


Real Feeling of Sharing

by Tolpen



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alchemy, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Bonding, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Magic Fuckery, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Pain, Crime, Don't copy to another site, Enchantment? Enchantment!, False Identity, Fire, Gender Issues, Graphic Description Of Becoming A Golem, Isekai, Kidnapping, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Misgendering, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Pillow Fights, Poisoning, Self-Insert, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tolpen/pseuds/Tolpen
Summary: I am not a big one for self-insert stories. I make an exception for this one, because this one happened to me.I woke up after the Joining astheWarden at the beginning of the Fifth Blight in Thedas in the body of Duran Aeducan. Thirty minutes later I derailed the course of known history. Per Duncan's assignment I am then to accompany Alistair to gather the Grey Wardens' allied forces, and per my decision I am to keep out of the way fo consequences... and not get called out on being the fakest dwarf.
Comments: 50
Kudos: 35





	1. The Day I Did Not Die

There are a lot of ways to tell that you've woken up the wrong way in the morning, and I was pretty certain that I've hit three of them at least: Every fibre of me was aching, two men were looming over me with worried expressions, and the sky was dark.

Especially the last bit was extremely worrisome, since I was fairly certain I fell asleep in my bed at home under a solid ceiling above which is mum's room and after that is the attic and after that is a roof and only then you get to see the sky.

“It is finished,” said one of the guys. Men. The one who was speaking had an earring in one ear and a little ponytail, so I automatically concluded he was cool and classified as a man. He then added: “Welcome.”

I had an uncanny feeling about that. Did I go out and joined a cult on a drunken bender or something? It sounded like that. I pretty much felt like that too.

“Two more deaths. In my Joining only one of us died, but it was...horrible. I'm glad at least one of you made it through.” This man, who barely classified as a man in my book – he could have been my age, so practically a baby – was a blonde and a hairstyle of “cow licked my face and I haven't bothered to force the hair down yet”.

They both also looked like they were way too invested in having realistic costumes for their medieval fantasy LARP. _Or rather..._

I've gone through the Joining in Dragon Age: Origins way too many times, which is because right after that when I tried to cross the bridge to get to the tower, the game crashed. I had to restart it, reload the save before joining, because the ones after that were corrupted... And that was in the case I got lucky and didn't have to run half of the Kolcari Wilds again. My point here is that I've heard Alistair say this line about billion million times, and you can get judgemental all you want about it, I do not really care.

_I am not a big fan of self-insert stories. That's because they don't usually happen to me._

“So I guess I am a Grey Warden now, huh?” I almost didn't realise it was me who said that, because while everyone's voice sounds different than what they hear it like, this sounded nothing like I remembered myself ever talking. It was... far lower.

With Duncan's help I made it up to my feet. Whatever it was I was wearing – chain mail I found out later when I had a moment to check and not look like an idiot for flipping through my layers of clothes – it was quite heavy, and the weight didn't bother me much. My head was spinning, but not much, and even the urge to throw up on anyone's shoes was quickly fading away. The after-taste of the “Joining juice” was at the back of my tongue and throat and was making sure I was not inclined to have any thoughts of eating any time soon.

“How do you feel?” Duncan asked.

So, Alistair and Duncan. It never got to me until now how young Alistair was. And how young Duncan was not. Additionally, either they were both taller than the standard game human model or...

“Sorry, I am a dwarf, right?”

Duncan's brow furrowed in concern: “Yes. Why do you question it?”

 _Think fast, think fast!_ “I, uh... I think I've had the first dream of my life. Not an experience I can recommend. No wonder the topside is a mess.” I hoped the low key racism was convincing. Apparently it was.

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn, as we all do. That and many other things can be explained in the months to come.”

_I wish, Duncan, I really wish you could explain all that to me._

“Before I forget,” Alistair chimed in, “there is one last part to your Joining. We take some of that blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us... of those who didn't make it this far.”

I was expecting him to put the Warden's Oath in my hand, but instead he drew it over my head. This being Alistair and my luck, the simple chain got immediately tangled in my beard- wait in my what? I had a beard. I had a very rich braided beard, thick and long enough that I couldn't see my neck.

Not only I got imported into a world which mere moments prior I thought was just a game thing. Not only I was made a Grey Warden, which is going to be a disaster because my fighting skills are almost non-existent when it comes to real fighting for survival. Not only I am a dwarf. I am a male- This is... a lot of new experiences to deal with.

Duncan chuckled as I was trying to free my beard, and added: “Take some time. When you're ready, I'd like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king.”

“Right. The strategy meeting. Will be there... when I feel at least a bit like a real person.”

Alistair took it as a hint to leave and... do whatever Alistair does when he is not with the Warden.

“The meeting is to the west, down the stairs. Please attend as soon as you are able.” After that Duncan turned around and walked down the stairs he's just mentioned. How nice of him to assume I am a person who can tell where west is without a compass.

I took the moment of privacy to throw my head back and stare at the stars, contemplating my life choices and what have I screwed up so much this time around. I've had a similar kind of dread boiling in my chest and stomach before; when I failed at uni and had had just dropped out and I had been just before calling my mum about it, I felt like this.

 _Well, on the good side, there is no way to tell mum about this, I suppose, so she won't be disappointed with me._ Or she probably will, but it won't be my problem, because my best guess is the first genlock shoots me through my head and I die. Unless I fall off the bridge when it shakes under the... catapults I think they were. Or maybe trebuchets? Or unless my new dwarven life crashes to desktop the moment Alistair and I get too close to the bridge.

My neck was hurting and there was a strategy meeting at which I had to be present for plot reasons. _Time to go._ And so I went.

I wasn't even close to the meeting table when I could hear King Cailan: “Loghain, my decision is final. I will stay by the Grey Wardens in this assault.”

Sir, has it been brought to your attention that in the attempt to step out of your father's shadow not only you are sinking deeper into it, but also make an idiot out of yourself?

“You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

Someone bring Loghain coffee or a shot of some strong spirit, preferably both. I was once again reminded that he probably was making an attempt not to get Cailan killed. And in real life the shoulder plates were... Well, they were still pretty bad, but they were acceptable.

“If that's the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to to join us in after all.”

I saw that smirk on Cailan. And that twitch in Loghain's hands, but only because I was looking for some kind of a response. This was a deliberate provocation and everyone around the table knew it.

I was now close enough to see Loghain roll his eyes as he as shaking his head: “I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves!”

“This is not a ‘fool notion’,” Cailan retorted. At this moment I began feeling so much second hand embarrassment form witnessing this argument that I honest to god zoned out and just silently stood besides Duncan and thought my thoughts.

Wait, probably not “honest to god”. “Honest to Maker” now, I guess. Well, dwarves kind of ignore the whole Chantry thing, so maybe “honest to stone”? All of these sound badly.

My distress had to be somewhat visible, because Duncan put a hand on my shoulder and attempted to give it a reassuring squeeze. The chain mail sabotaged his work there quite a lot, but he succeeded in bringing my attention back to the present moment. _Thanks, Duncan._

Cailan was smiling at me: “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Oh shit, he was speaking to me, right. _Really a big thank you, Duncan!_ “Uh, yes. More Wardens to throw at the Blight is a good thing.”

That met with an approval from everyone. I was going to get a good grade from Conversation, something very possible to achieve. Cail especially expressed himself with a nod and a thoughtful: “Every Warden is needed now more than ever.”

_And by the morning there is going to be only two of them at best._

Loghain ruined the moment for me for scolding Cailan for attempting some pep talk. Those two really, really weren't on good terms. And hadn't been for some time. Loghain was condescending on purpose and Cailan was jumping into the middle of his sentences. Anora had to be _some_ Queen if Ferelden wasn't in a civil war right now.

“Fine. Speak your strategy. The grey wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging into our lines. And then?”

_Sir, Your Majesty, Cailan bro, the plan is literally three sentences, how could you forget?_

“You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover-”

_How is the tower even supposed to be signalled? It's dark. It's raining. Fires are going to be everywhere. It will be loud._

“To flank the darkspawn. Yes, I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruin, yes? Who shall light the beacon?”

“We are going to get so massacred.”

One kind of gentle kick into my ankle and many stares from around the table brought it to my attention that it was in fact me who said that. After a beat of awkward silence and confused blinks, Loghain said: “I beg your pardon?”

Duncan's squeeze on my shoulder was no longer reassuring, but it was squeezing in that kind of self-preservation way indicating that I ought to shut my mouth and not dig that grave of mine any deeper. It would have worked on a sensible person with some sense of self-preservation whose nerves weren't trying to garrotte them for the past fifteen minutes. Literally on anyone but me.

“I said: ‘We are going to get so massacred.’” And because it didn't seem good enough, I added: “Sir.” _Sorry, Duncan._

While the teyrn was looking like murdering me on the spot, Cailan demanded answers first: “What does even make you say so?”

Well, I can't exactly tell them that I've seen it happen a bunch of times, right? _Uhhhh... Shit, let's be dwarf. Say something dwarf-sounding._

“Duran, if you have any vital information we should know,” Duncan spoke carefully – which made me aware that I hate the name Duran – and let go off my shoulder, “it is better to share it with us now. I am certain it is not too late to make change to our plans yet.”

“While we were in teh Kocari Wilds earlier today... It's a habit from the Deep Roads. I did some calculations. When you know how many darkspawn appear in a measured area in a measured amount of time you can guesstimate how large is going to be the main force you run into.” That sounded... actually legitimate. I saw Loghain tilting his head as he probably thought it over. Duncan rubbed his beard.

Bolstered by this success, I continued: “I had a walk around the camp, I have an approximation to our numbers. This plan you have devised here, the hammer and anvil, it would work. If you had more men on both sides. Or less darkspawn. If everything would go according to the plan-”

“And it never does,” a mage chimed in. Uldred, I think? I suppose he was.

“Right, it never does, but if it would, we could _barely_ make it here with a lot of luck. I prefer to err on the side of teh caution, though, I encounter far less unpleasant surprises.”

Cailan crossed his arms and gave Loghain a challenging look, even though he was still addressing me: “So what you are saying is that the strategy is... an utter crap.”

I had to be diplomatic. I didn't want to get on the bad side of either Loghain nor Cailan, and least of all disappoint Duncan. “With what we have at your disposal right here and right now? No, it's the best plan of an attack and the greatest hope for victory you could have. But if what we have is not enough, then not even a strategy given to you by the Maker is going win.”

I had to really have a great persuasion check, because this too was met with agreement all around the table.

Loghain still had some murder in his eyes, though, when he asked: “Very well then, _strategist_. What do you propose, then?”

“Wait for Redcliffe. The Darkspawn horde grows bigger each day, but not that fast. If Redcliffe won't be enough by the time they get here, this place is a strong choke point to hold the horde back before Orlais-”

“We don't need Orlais!”

“-or any other reinforcements arrive. After all,” and here I turned to Duncan, “that is why we recovered the treaties, isn't it?”

I fancied myself to think that when Duncan nodded, he was a touch proud of me.

Cailan... sort of deflated and threw his gauntlets on the map on the table. “Very well then. We shall wait for Eamon. But he better move it.”

Leave it up to me to fuck up a big important historical event.


	2. Can I Get a Puppy, Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about animals. And a bit about cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make an Alistair Appreciation Announcement. Alistair is good. In this work, Alistair also does not suffer horrible survivor guilt and as crippling depression, because guess what: A lot of people didn't die on schedule.

“What? I can't believe it! The battle's been called off.” Alistair was extremely disbelieving and he had been disbelieving for the past two hours. My guess was that I was past midnight by now but it was just a guess. Besides Alistair I happened to annoy a lot of people by making the King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain call off the big battle of glory.

“Alistair, please,” Duncan forced him to sit back down. The Grey Wardens have gathered around the pyre, which had at that point mostly gone out, and were pacing back and forth.

“Fine, fine! I am calm now! It's just... you never let me into a proper fight.”

Duncan looked away. He was obviously guilty as charged. “Life is not always about fighting.”

Alistair was frowning at him: “I want to help you to hold the darkspawn here.”

Everyone looked at Duncan and came to the same conclusion: Not going to happen.

“I am going to end up on recruiting the allies with the treaties, am I not?” Alistair sighed and threw his shield down. I felt a little bit sorry for him, but only a little.

Warden-Commander Duncan nodded.

“Alright. But I am not going alone, am I?”

“Of course not,” Duncan replied to Alistair softly, “the journey-”

“I want Duran to go with me. Since it is his fault and his idea.”

I looked up and smiled: “Oh, I was actually planning to volunteer. I'd love to travel a bit.”  I would also like to stay away from most of the fighting.  _And in the bits of the story I know._

Alistair was not appeased, since he was still trying to tear me apart with the glare. It was time to apply the highest level of bribery I was capable of: “I can cook.”

I know I say a lot that I can't cook. It is... not really true. I hate to cook, because it always seemed pointless to me; cooking just for myself is too much work for little pleasure and is in general not worth the effort when I can just slap some cheese on bread and let it melt and it feeds me all the same, and when I cooked something for more people, it rarely met with... positive feedback. What had stuck with me in particular was that one time I made pasta with roasted vegetables with sauce the same way my mother's boyfriend makes it, and when he came home from work, he looked into the pot and then made himself poached eggs.

(There is an exception and that is pizza. If I have the ingredients and oven, I can make damn good pizza from the scratch. Not that I had any hopes of encountering olives or tomatoes on my grand tour across Ferelden.)

The point here was that I am not bad at cooking, and right now I was being handed a person who'd appreciate one thousand and one variants of stew and soup. And Alistair in turn didn't have to cook... and eat his own cooking.

“Then it is decided,” Duncan was glad to see that we reached some sort of peace. “You two ought to go to sleep. There is precious little time to waste. If you want to set up early, you should be fresh come the morning.”

Alistair was about to protest being sent to bed, but I was faster to say that that is a sound idea, good night everyone. I tossed and turned in the sheets in the tent for solid time, and then had horrible darkspawn nightmares, but I slept and when the sunrise woke me up I felt a touch more alive and a bit less like screaming with horror.

What was nice was that the Grey Wardens had a policy of together-breakfasts, so there was some peer pressure on me to eat, and we were passing the bread and cheese around the pyre. While it was not exactly the most hygienic handling of food, it was a nice together activity, and someone fell asleep on me, because she stayed up too late.

Duncan was talking about the treaties Alistair and I were to deliver. I was only halfway listening, because the only thing I didn't know about them yet was that that the parties were obliged to help only if a Grey Warden delivered those treaties, and Duncan said it as the very second thing at the breakfast. The first thing was: “Good morning everyone.”

Instead I was making a travel plan. The most sensible thing was to go across Lothering where Alistair and I could get not-army supplies. In theory we could get Sten to help us? And Leliana, since was at the Chantry there, and I was of the opinion that there was safety in numbers. I only knew how to make it across Ferelden with the usual suspects of the companions, and so I was clutching to the familiar idea of getting them. Already I knew I wasn't going to have Morrigan.

I checked the magi camp. Uldred was there and didn't seem keen on leaving his tent. That meant that Kinloch Hold in the middle of the lake was not going to be overrun by abominations and blood mages and demons and wouldn't be all meaty upstairs. Since there wasn't a civil war started, I supposed Arl Eamon was not going to get poison-sick so- Hell yes! We didn't have to do the whole urn thing!

But also no Zevran. Not that I liked the idea of having to be found and then fight Zevran, mind you. Well... He can't pick locks anyway. We would live without him.

Still, the Dalish and Orzammar were going to be a mess and I was not going to take on the bloody thrice-damned broodmother in just two people, one of them being me.

Therefore I was sitting at the low-burning pyre, munching on some funny cheese and bread, drinking an awfully bitter tea, having Duncan's words flow through my head without actually ever touching the brain, and I was improvising a plan. A keikaku, if you will. The worst part of it? Nobody here was going to get the keikaku joke.

My moment of contemplation was disturbed when something in the situation I was in changed. It took me a moment to figure it out: Duncan went silent. When I looked around, I found out that it was because Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir had had apparently approached us while I was not paying attention, and took Duncan aside to talk. I heard voices but not words, though. It involved a lot of gestures, though. Whatever it was about, it looked like it was about Alistair, therefore probably about the trip, therefore also about me, and as such I should finish my breakfast and check what little I had to pack.

Duran no-longer-Aeducan had very little possession which consisted of a sword, a somewhat battered sheet, neatly folded set of clothing which had dried black splotches on the hems of the sleeves, a crude dagger too heavy to be really useful, a leather cap, and the chain mail armour with boots and gloves I was already wearing. Not even a spare pair of socks. As such I was packed up rather quickly and when I crawled out of the tent I bumped into Alistair who obviously had the same idea as I, as he was carrying a backpack.

“Oh hey.”

“Hi Alistair.”

“Teyrn Loghain is going with us, have you heard?”

My heart did a complicated acrobatic stunt and landed on the floor with a broken neck. “Well,  _now_ I heard.”

“Apparently we are so incompetent and danger to ourselves that the Hero of River Dane has to babysit us.”

“Indeed he has to,” the mentioned man cleared his throat behind Alistairs back. I had want to warn Alistair about him, but he was talking too quickly for me to tell him anything. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you and make certain you do not do anything... unprecedented.”

_To keep an eye on the Grey Wardens whom you think to be plotting a coup on the behalf of Orlesians, or to keep an eye on the other – and probably more capable – son of Maric?_

“The future of Ferelden is at stake. You,” Loghain glared at me so that there would be no question as to whom he meant, “might have proved yourself to implement a thought here and there yesterday. Still, nobody knows you. And Alistair is...”

Alistair filled in: “New. I am new, yes, I know. The second youngest of the order now. No need to rub it in, we are all more than aware.”

“Exactly. As such a certain level of supervision is needed.”

Oh. So it is both. Out loud, though, I said: “So we go all the way to the top and go with you rather than, say, Ser Cauthrien, did I get that right?”

“Oh, you know Ser Cauthrien?”

“She has a reputation in the camp, Alistair,” I smiled right back at him. “If the King didn't come to welcome Duncan when we arrived yesterday, she would have been the first important person I would have heard about here.”

I was getting better at this kind of believable lies by the minute.

Loghain didn't grace it with a comment. “Are you two ready for the way?”  
“Yes, sir.”

“I need to tie up my shoes and I am ready to go.”

We looked at Alistairs boots which held together by straps and miracles, but definitely not by laces.

Finally the teyrn sighed: “I would appreciate it if you lost that sense of humour.”

“Easy enough. I lose stuff all the- ow!”

_Sorry, Alistair._ I rubbed my elbow because shoving a man in armour in the ribs hurts you more than it does him. But at least he didn't ask what it was for. This group had only one spot for a suicidal blabbermouth, and I had decided it was going to be me. Mostly because I could keep Alistair in check, but he couldn't keep in check me. Or who knew, maybe he could.

Besides, my spot to shine with incompetency was right the next moment when Loghain asked if we have our horses ready.

“Grey Wardens are not a cavalry to have horses,” Alistair pointed out to him. “Duncan, sure, he is the Commander. Kestric and Mirahall, yes, they are scouts and messengers. The rest of us are footmen.”

“Hmph. Well, my men can spare-”

“I don't know how to ride a horse,” I cut him off before he could formulate the idea fully. There was no fucking way I was getting on a horse. They are big. I can't ride horses.

Alistair's eyebrows shot up: “You... don't?”

“Surprising, I know. The rich green pastures of Orzammar have many of these beasts, yet I never managed to ride one and command it with my long legs which definitely reach into the dangly stuff.”

“Stirrup. You mean stirrups.”

“I probably did, Alistair, yes. So, to answer your question: No, I really don't know how to ride a horse. I never even sat on one. And I have never been close enough to one to try that.”

Loghain: “Fair enough. There are enough ponies around the camp. You'll get hold of the reins as we go.”

_You gotta be kidding me._

“Oh. Just great.” But I wanted to die while I was saying that.

He was already striding over to the army's camp, where I had never been before, and waved at me and Alistair to follow him. They indeed had a couple of mules and ponies there to transport cargo, and I got handed a saddle and reins pretty quickly.

“You have to remember to never turn your back to the animal, though,” Loghain explained to me.

I was a bit of a horse-girl when I was little, but without the bit when I physically had a horse, so that instruction confused me: “Uh, why?”

“Because unlike horses, ponies are born predators. If hungry enough, a heard of them can take apart a bear whole with bones. You would be a little more than a snack.”

I was dedicated not to give away my ruse of being the dwarf I looked like, so I played dumb while I pretended I did not notice Alistair snickering behind me. “Ah, I figured these teeth ain't just for the show.”

I managed to put the saddle on the pony without getting kicked or bit. I was dedicated not to let the pony know how afraid I was of riding it, because horses and ponies sense fear like printers. Which sadly was another joke nobody here besides me would understand.

I was about to ask Alistair if he had the treaties with him, because it would be really awkward to find out we don't have them in, say the middle of the Brecillian forest, when something big and heavy pounced on me.

I rolled away, feeling my heartbeat in my ears, and was more than prepared to kick in defence, when I noticed that it was a dog. And it was behaving actually friendly. It- he, definitely a he, jumped on me again and began licking my face all over. Cute in theory, slimy and smelly in practice. I was overwhelmed by the animal, and decided to just... deal with it.  
“Hey, boy, down,” I hear someone above me say. The Mabari backed off and sat down while I sat up.

“There you are,” the man in charge of the dog smiled. “I wanted to thank you. And so did he for the matter. He's gotten much better since yesterday.”

_Ah, Duran saved the Dog._ “Yeah. I noticed.”

“Are you still interested in the imprinting?”

“Well, you see, I am right now leaving-”

“You are imprinting a Mabari?” Leave it up to Loghain to be interested in any dog shenanigans.

“I don't know.” It was an honest answer from me for once.

“I think it is a great idea, actually. Mabari are excellent companions and war hounds.”

While Loghain and the kenellmaster got caught up in the talk about the dog, Alistair watched me. The dog nuzzled up to my and I automatically started scratching him behind the ears. We had two dogs back home, not so big ones, but they were big enough. Wolfwodogs. Probably not as magically clever as Mabari, but still smart enough. Except when they behaved like absolute idiots and mackerel brains.

“What you say, good boy, don't you want to stay here and fight the darkspawn to keep people safe? Oof.” I got licked all over once again. “Hey, no licking my face. You have no idea where it has been.”

Alistair chuckled: “Looks to me he's pretty much imprinted on you. And none of that mud-painting was even needed.”

“Alistair, I can't take a dog with us.”

A sad whine.

“Why couldn't you?”

“I have no idea how I would take care of him on the road.” There is having the Dig in game, and having a dog in real life, and this was being more and more of the latter.

He shrugged: “Well, Mabari actually more take care of you. I wouldn't be surprised if he was smarter than the both of us together, except dogs can't speak.”

I looked at the dog. “Maybe he is smart enough not to let us know he can speak. He'd have to engage in a small talk about the weather and politics and women.”

Alistair appreciated the joke. Now that we kind of agreed that yes, dog goes with us, we had to figure out how to get Loghain out of his dog-talk without getting scolded.

I decided to be brave and risk it: “Sir, what's the dogs name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point the story reached over 5K words, which for me is a sign of "You are not writing this for the funsies, you are actually taking this seriously." Given that this is still a parody trash-fic, I am slightly concerned. On the other hand, the last fic with exactly this "problem" was _The Night In Gale_ , which for whatever the reasons remains to be one of my most popular (if not THE most popular) fics I've ever put up on AO3. So I have some hopes here.


	3. Lothering with Intent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The obligatory stop at Lothering. Alistair is officially in charge.

The quickest way to figure out you are not fond of riding a pony is to ride one. For a whole day. I felt what I thought like was having my arse pounded, but I really didn't have the experience to make sure the comparison fit, and truth be told I also had no aspirations whatsoever to figure it out any time soon or ever.

I found myself longing for a bit of music, but singing out loud would be embarrassing, especially since I didn't know any song anyone could join to, so I had to do with the orchestra in my head which didn't really work.

Alistair occasionally tried to strike up a little conversation: About Orzammar, about what it was like coming out of age in a Chantry cloister, about the Chantry itself, about Loghain's switch of armour before we embarked on the road. Each time I would try to indulge him and get out some lore, except the Orzammar one when I had to bullshit about a bit. And each time Loghain would bark some remark which was a very unsubtle hint for us to shut up. Alistair's attempts were becoming less and less frequent, and finally after our stop for lunch they died out altogether. Which I personally find sad and the only reason why I didn't start playing I Spy with him was because I was too focused on not falling off the bloody pony to look around.

Dog, whom I still had to name because such is the tradition, was trotting happily along us and sometimes we threw him sticks to fetch. Sometimes I didn't even fall flat on the ground when I retrieved the sticks from him. More often I slipped off, though, at which point the dog went to save me and my pony stopped dead in its tracks and looked at me as if to say: “What, really?”

Needless to say that Lothering came to me as a big relief when we reached it in the evening. Loghain went to the inn to sort out sleeping accommodations, because in his own words: “This is the first bed I am going to see in months. And the last one too, given the nature of our task. By all means, you two sleep in a ditch if you prefer.” The only logic that would had been harder to argue with would involve sharp instruments.

I took that time to give Alistair a very serious look: “You are aware that as far as he is concerned, you are the person in charge, right?”

Loghain had gone out of his way to change out of the shiny armour into some far lighter and far less recognisable leather. He was not exactly incognito, but the general idea was that he wouldn't attract as much attention. I cam to the conclusion that not throwing his name around like canned beans at a demonstration is the least I could do.

“I never actually told him that I am, though.” Alistair held the reins of my pony while I dismounted and jumped on the ground as gracefully as a frog caught by a bypassing tornado.

“But I am new, and he is here just sort to laugh at us if we get lost or killed by a hail of frogs. Or whatever drops from this sky of yours. Those big puffs look quite heavy for a starter, they could certainly kill us if they dropped on our heads.”

He smiled. “Those are clouds. The worst they drop is rain. And I don't want to be in charge. I am not a good person to be in charge of anything. Couldn't _you_ be the leading figure?”

“Not in front of our man.” I noticed the way Alistair's hopeful expression dropped and I had the guilty feeling as if I stepped on a kitten's paw, so I added: “But behind his backs? Sure. But you have to keep up the appearance.”

“I can do that, yes.”

“Alright. Dog, we both rely on your confidentality. Not a word to anyone. Or, well, you know. Not a bark.”

Dog, predictably, barked and wagged his tail. We both petted him.

I petted the pony too, because I was trying not to turn my backs to it, and then looked up at Alistair again: “We have to visit Kinloch Hold, Orzammar, and find a Dalish Camp in the Brecillian Forest. It is a trip literally across all of Ferelden. If we stick to the Imperial Highway, there is no way we can visit all of these places without backtracking or making our trip unnecessarily longer.”

Alistair thought about it for a moment. As the sun loomed lower and lower over the horizon, it was getting colder. I was beginning to wondering what was Loghain doing inside the inn there so long. Checking personally that there were no Orlesians in the rooms?

“What if we start with Orzammar,” I offered, “while the weather is still mild. Then we dip into Lake Calenhad for a bit of the magic, and on the way to the Brecillian Forest we can stop by Denerim to wash out clothes. Once we find the Dalish, we return here through the southern road, preferably with the elves.”

“That does sound reasonable.”

Somewhat domesticated Loghain appeared from the inn with a boy who was promised a few coins to take care of our horses. As such we moved to the in to set down our bags.

“Alistair,” Loghain turned around once he was out of the leather armour, “have you decided where is our first real stop going to be?”

Alistair was a good actor, because he did not shoot me a look and instead said that he though that Orzammar would be a good start, especially since we had a native guide. One of those days I would have to explain to him that I was not a dwarf legally.

“King Endrin is a reasonable man,” Loghain nodded after a while. “At least through the correspondence. Even though dwarven politics are a deadly sport, I do not actually expect to run into any resistance there.”

Boy, do I have news for you, Loghain. Do I have news for you...

“Gentlemen,” I said, “would you mind if I took a walk around? I've been sitting on that monster all day and, uh, need to walk it off.”

“Oh, I'll go with you,” Alistair jumped up.

Loghain watched us awkwardly standing in the room. After a moment he sort of waved us off with his hand: “What, are you waiting for me to say ‘dismissed’?”

We were out before you could say “dismissed”.

“Alistair shuffled his feet, and I had the feeling he was going to ask me for a favour. “I... Would you mind if we visited the Chantry? I should... catch up on my prayers and, well. You know. Uh. You don't have to go with me, I know that dwarves don't really... bother with Andraste and the Chant of Light.”

“Sure,” I shrugged, “I can go. Never been to a Chantry before.”

Some three minutes later, give or take, I left Alistair alone kneeling in the pews and went to explore the church. There were a couple of Templars menancingly standing around, but they let me pass into an area that was not accessible to me ever before, and I found myself what to me looked like a cloister. And by cloister I mean “square garden surrounded by a covered walk”. The Chantry as I had learned to know it was quite Christian. Not that I was of the religious sort, but stuff like cloisters were questions worth a lot of points in history exams, especially given that they were just a fancy rectangle.

The inner little garden was mostly drowned in the quickly approaching night, but I took a walk in it anyway. Shortly after that I found out that my sore behind did not feel like walking much, so I sat down on my knees under a dead rosebush. I had some thinking to do.

 _Sten is here._ Not here-here, but in Lothering. Sure, the village is not going to get run over by the darkspawn horde, most likely anyway, but I can't in good conscience just... _leave_ him in the cage. He is going to die of thirst. Or starvation. Thirst probably first, but I don't know how Quinari physiology works.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, “this is going to-”

“Oh, I am sorry, I didn't know anyone was here.” That sounded like Leliana.

And it indeed was Leliana. I didn't hear her coming, but right now she was standing in front of me, and we were kind of squinting at each other in the dark. I stood up.

“I didn't want to disturb your prayers, gentleman,” she offered apologetically. “Um...”

“Oh, I was... not praying. I don't really know how to.”

Leliana looked at me and then she realised that as a dwarf I didn't really have a reason to be praying. “Then why are you here?”

“I... just needed to be alone with my thoughts for a while.” And then, because recruiting Leliana is something I always did, because come on, she was a bard and a hotshot, and by that I mean literally, I added: “And I was hoping that if I bring them to the Maker, maybe He could have some answers. But nobody answered. It was worth a try, though.”

She giggled: “So you _were_ praying after all.”

“Maybe? I don't know. I probably did it wrong anyway, so the message didn't deliver.”

We both sat down. It was hard to make out the shape of Leliana against the blackness of the dead bush, but I thought I managed.

“What were you praying for?”

I had to lie, but I was decided to make it a harmless lie: “I... had a dream. I mean, us dwarves don't dream at all, and Grey Wardens have only nightmares about the darkspawn,” maybe I shouldn't have told her the Grey Warden bit, “but this was... different. I dreamed that I was fighting... fighting a darkness. I struggled against it. I thought it was going to swallow me whole, but it didn't, I managed to fight it back. It wanted to retreat into a cave where I couldn't follow it.”

Leliana gave a thoughtful hum: “So it had escaped?”

“No. Because from within the cave suddenly shone light. Like fire, but it was also singing. When the darkness touched it, it just burned away. And then the singing fire spilled out of the cave. But it didn't burn anything else, only the darkness. And... it kept me warm. Before that I didn't realise I was cold. When the fire got into my ears, I heard the words of the song it sung, but I woke up before I could make out what they were.”  
“Wow. That is... quite a scary dream you had.”

I shrugged and shivered. It was getting very cold. “I found it quite comforting actually. But... creepy that it happened. Dreams are weird. Heh. No wonder you tallsies are all crazy, right?”

She laughed and agreed, indeed, no wonder.

It didn't seem that this was going to go anywhere, however, so I thanked her for listening to me and said that I should probably go now. “Good bye, L- lovely lady.”

I went to collected Alistair who was being guilt-tripped by one of the menacing templars.

“Sir, leave my friend alone.”

“I am not a man, little one,” the Templar turned the helmet my way.

She served me the ball in such a brilliant way that it would have been a crime not to smack it for score, which is why I replied: “Are you sure about that? Because you certainly act like a dick.”

We rushed out of the church before the templar recovered and decided whether to just stab us or reply with something witty too. We managed to get back into the inn and our rented little room without any incident unless you count me stepping into a pool of mud as an incident.

The room was dark and quiet, nearly pitch black. By a silent agreement Alistair and I didn't speak and tried to slip into the beds without waking Loghain up. “Tried” was the imperative words, since I don't know what exactly Alistair did, presumably didn't prop his shield up on the wall well or something, because there was a metal noise. It wasn't loud, but in the quietness of the room it was deafening. I froze in place.

Then someone right under me chuckled. And oh god was I grateful that I didn't accidentally plop down on Loghain Mac Tir, because that would have hunted me 'till my dying days.

“Good thing you two aren't supposed to sneak upon people.”

“We, uh,” Alistair began, “thought you were asleep, actually.”

“I was working on it, yes.”

I moved to another bed and laid down. Luckily Alistair didn't jump on me as I was afraid he would, so we all could pretend we were sleeping. In the morning Alistair accused me of snoring, but I had no idea whether or not he was making it up.

“You two ought to find some food we can get for the road,” Loghain said after the breakfast, which was a watery pea porridge and which wasn't as bad as it looked, even though that did not mean it was good.

“And you not, sir?” Alistair wiped off his chin with his sleeve. Then he turned to me: “What?”

Some people can't take a hint when you kick them under the table. I sighed. “It's a test, Alistair.”

“You are way too smart for your own good.”

“Yes, I get that a lot,” I smiled at Loghain weakly. Then I was off to do some light shopping.

To my surprise Lothering had something that looked like a general store. It was apparently run by Mr. Rulemm if the sign on the door could be trusted. He had a moustache like a walrus and almost no hair left. He was tending to a book with a quill, and when I entered, he called out without even looking up: “Bethany, customer!”

Bethany could have been my age, my _real_ age not my dwarf age. Unlike Mr. Rulemm she had a lot of hair and she was obviously very proud of them. I mean, if I had such a lustrous shade of black cascading on my shoulders in waves like an ungentle ocean, I would have been proud too. All I had to be proud of was a beard. Which I forgot to brush this morning.

Bethany was a real sweetheart who helped me to pick good waterskins (I had just one and it didn't look like it was going to last) some smoked, and some dried meat that could last a while, and she praised the fresh carrots they had so much that I had to get a bunch of them just to shut her up. In addition I got one whole cabbage, because cabbage is a good filler into food, and some potatoes. My backpack got significantly bulkier and heavier.

I met up with Loghain and Alistair at the northern path from Lothering, as we had scheduled. Alistair bought health poultices and bandages and two bars of soap, but neither of us won Loghain's frown of approval, because: “Since Duran revealed that this was supposed to be a test, it doesn't count.”

“I am sure that if I go to return the soap, I could get a refund,” Alistair offered to Loghain. If glares could kill, Alistair would have gone down dead. This way he only chuckled as if he won an argument with the teyrn. Which I supposed was true.

As we were leaving the village, I looked at the big cage we passed. It was open and empty. As if no Quinari had ever been locked in it.


	4. Mum, I Killed a Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gee, Tolp, how comes the story lets you to have _three_ random encounters in one day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initially i wanted to post this tomorrow. instead i post it right now when the chapter is still warm from the oven, and tomorrow you'll have to do without, i guess.  
> loghain is insufferable dick. i am very emotional about him.
> 
> Warning: In this chapter a character has a **blade pressed to their throat** and it is held there for a while.

After two hours I spent on the bloody damned painful-to-rise pony, Loghain stopped his horse and tilted his head to side.

Alistair turned around in the saddle to look at him: “What?”

After a moment the man shook his head, sending black hair everywhere: “Someone is following us. Let's keep moving.”

We kept moving. Why would anyone be following us? We looked like little money and a lot of business. Not that we were much of the latter. Well, Loghain and Alistair, sure, but certainly not me.

Speaking of me, my legs needed a stretch and my backside needed a break, so I took off the pony, this time I didn't even fall. I walked and led it by reins.

“You know,” Alistair started, “when you are leading a pony, you are supposed to go in front of it, not the other way around.”  
“Pray tell, how am I supposed to do it without turning my backs to it and getting my head bitten off?”  
“Oh... Right.” And then he started snickering and then he started laughing and then Loghain joined him.

I picked up the pace and stormed ahead of the both of them, because while I knew it was set up so I would be the punchline of the joke, it still hurt. And they didn't have to see me angrily crying.

I heard Alistair behind me: “Oh, come on Duran. Duran? Duran!”

Since they were both on horses, they caught up with me rather quickly.

Since nobody was paying attention, we got surrounded. Six humans in dirty leather armour and holding ugly blades. One of them had a blue kerchief tied around his wrist and he smiled at us. Apparently their leader.

“Gentlemen,” he spoke in an accent I couldn't really place, “your lives or your valuables. We would appreciate the valuables.”

My fellow gentlemen got off their horses. We didn't really have valuables. There was a bit of money Duncan provided us, and I wasn't sure what Loghain had with him, but- _Oh okay, you can punch him in the face, Alistair, that works too._

It was a very quick fight. I managed to draw my daggers just fine and even parry a blow, but that was pure luck. Alistair slashed one of the bandits in half, and then we came to a stalemate, because a duo ganged up on Loghain – one grabbed him by hair and the other, it was the leader, pressed a sword to his neck.

I could make that assessment of the situation only when we all froze. The tension in the air was practically tangible.

“Gentlemen, as I said. We'd prefer the valuables. We're not really killers. Drop your weapons.”

I was not panicking. I was certainly not panicking.

“Drop. Your. Wea-”

_Schlud!_

That is the sound of a flying arrow upon impact. Where the bandit leader had his left eye a moment ago was now a feathery rose of fletching which was very quickly getting bloody.

While everyone was too busy admiring the precision of the shot and the bits of bloody brain dripping from the arrow point on the other side, I took my daggers and stabbed the bandit next to me in his side and stomach and chest a couple of times. I was pretty sure I hit at least one lung, so he was not going to make it without an ambulance. And this being Thedas, there were no ambulances.

I was on a good way to panic that I've just killed someone, but then the fight broke out again in full and I lost track of who was doing what exactly, because I was too busy getting out of harm's way. By the time things stopped moving I was covered in blood, but I was also pretty sure that it wasn't mine, so all was good.

There were four of us now. A huge man that towered even over Loghain. He had a lot of white braids that were drawn back into a ponytail. I like braids, so I considered him to be very pretty and stylish. And dangerous with the greatsword.

Neither Alistair nor Loghain seemed to trust Sten's very convenient appearance and siding with us. Come on, obviously it was Sten. Although I was pretty damn sure it was not him who did the shooting.

Loghain growled: “I knew we were being tailed by someone. Are there more of you? Speak!”

Sten was very predictably stubbornly silent. It looked like the two of them were on a good way to get into a fight as well.

I decided to risk looking like an absolute idiot and called out with a smile: “Sister Leliana?”

A bush rustled and Leliana appeared, her shoulders covered in leaves. She was in the Chantry robes, but she tucked the hem of the skirt in the front behind her belt, so she was also showing a pair of leather pants. She smiled at me: “Hello again.”

Loghain bristled up. “I knew it! The Orlesian-”

I did not have time for that. “I am absolutely certain, that if the Orlesians were invading, they wouldn't send a Chantry lay-sister skilled in archery to shoot a banding holding a sword at your throat. I might be wrong, of course. But if I was the Orlesian infantry, I would definitely shoot Loghain Mac Tir first.”

Alistair gave a little bow to Sten and Leliana: “We are grateful for you saving our lives. We certainly didn't need it and would have been fine, but we are grateful all the same.”

Sten sheathed his sword. “Can we go now, woman?”

“We wanted to join them.”

“You wanted to join them. I do not have a choice.”

Leliana looked like she wanted to bang her head against a wall, many times in fact.

But Alistair perked up: “You wanted to join us? Why?”

“Umm. Well, you are on an important quest to help to save the whole world, no? I thought that everyone who can help should do so. And I can help. Sten also can help.” When Leliana noticed that except me nobody looked convinced, she added: “And also the Maker told me to.”

“I do not really want to argue with the Maker,” Alistair concluded. “Especially when he sends such a pretty archer my way.”

Loghain ran out of patience or the willingness to put up with what he perceived as our idiocy, because he spewed: “You are not serious, are you? You cannot let this Orlesian ‘Sister’ come with us.

I looked at him: “And why not? It's not like she shot _us_. And besides, she was very nice on Lothering.”

“You two... have met?” _Poor Loghain._ He wasn't taking it well, it seemed.

“Yes, we did. I followed him then. He sparked my curiosity. Then the Maker gave me a revelation and I knew I was meant to help you on your quest. The Revered Mother released Sten into my custody. I believe that he can atone through many good actions, rather than though a pointless death.”

“My death would mean nothing, woman.”

“Yes, Sten,” Leliana sighed and went to retrieve her arrows from corpses. “But your life means a lot.”

Loghain performed an exquisite facepalm and smeared blood all over his face. “Instead of me, Anora should have gone with you two. She has always enjoyed circus.”

“I think that means ‘welcome on board’,” Alistair grinned.

Because officially Alistair was in charge, from then on Leliana and Sten travelled with us. And since Leliana was virtually immune to Loghain's broody glaring, Alistair had someone to talk to.

I noticed, however, that from time to time everyone except Sten shot me suspicious looks when they thought I was not looking or paying attention. I was good at looking like I was not paying attention. I had done something suspicious, but I had no idea what it was. I had figured out Leliana. Maybe it was that? Either way I was not going to be the one to address the problem.

At least the dog was still on my side. Everyone seemed to love him. I took to calling him Wild, but it didn't seem to be catching up among our group. So far the most common way of addressing him was “good boy”. I was sure we were going to spoil him rotten before we reached Orzammar.

In the late afternoon Alistair, who had chivalrously offered is horse to Leliana so she wouldn't have to walk, turned to us and proclaimed: “We are halfway to Redcliffe. We have a couple of options now. We can continue until we reach it come night and rest there, although I don't think anyone will be happy if we arrive at the dead of the night, not to mention travelling in dark is not a clever idea. Or we can camp soon and rest in Redcliffe tomorrow.”

“Or,” Loghain started, “we can push forward until the evening, camp then, and do not waste time in Redcliffe tomorrow at all.”

 _Personally? I am with Loghain._ We were trying to be fast after all. And it wasn't like there were going to be any people in Redcliffe who- No, wait. Sten. Dwyn. _Asala._ I needed to get Asala.

“That is efficient.” Goddamit Sten!

Leliana shrugged: “I am not adverse to stopping in Redcliff tomorrow. Tonight is probably not wise, yes?”

So it fell up to me, since everyone gave me the look of expectation. I thought about it: “We camp in the evening and stop in Redcliffe briefly tomorrow? We shouldn't waste time, but we also might want salted fish and a spare bedroll. And another tent.”

We had three tents among us right now. Wild would probably sleep outside, so that was five people for three tents. That didn't look like a problem until you realised that Sten was to big to share a tent with anyone, the rest of us didn't really have the balls to bunk up with Loghain or his things, and in theory if ladies don't share sleeping accommodation with men, I could share with Leliana if I admitted my true colours, which I was not about to do. It could work with carefully selected two-people night watch shifts.

Honestly, I was keen on “inventing” the railway just so we could get to Orzammar in one day and get over the tent issue.

“That doesn't sound like a bad option,” Loghain said very carefully, as if he was testing if we all would take it as his defeat. We didn't, so he added: “We certainly could do that.”

Our fortune didn't adhere to the rule of one random encounter per day. But luckily the encounter wasn't hostile. In fact it was the troop of Redcliffe soldiers and militia heading to Ostagar. We cleared the highway for them. For a moment I was afraid that when Arl Eamon was passing us, he and Loghain or Alistair would be like two mums in grocery store who'd get stuck talking together for three hours without getting anything done. However, he and the teyrn only nodded at each other with respect, and we each were on our way.

We found Alistair hiding behind a rock in the ditch, though. Sten had to point it out to us, because he was the only one who noticed the man leaping off the road, and the rest of us was quite afraid when we noticed him missing.

“Really, Alistair?” Loghain frowned, disappointed. “Hiding?”

My fellow Warden looked like he wished for a lot of alcohol in that moment. “Yes. After all, that's what I am supposed to do. Keeping out of the view, right?”

“On the list of things you could use loosing, add the pettiness.”

Otherwise we continued uneventfully and sat up the camp with the last moments of sunlight. That meant I had to rely on the campfire for light when I was making soup thick enough to be considered a stew, but I didn't loose any fingers, nor did I cut myself. Alistair had to admit that I did not lie to him: I could cook.

Alistair went to sleep early, still in a foul mood, and because I was paired with him for the night watch, I joined him in the tent. I say “foul mood”, but what I mean is that when I wished him good night, he just growled at me, so that was where I stopped my attempts at comforting him. I like to think I know the line between what is friendly and what is suicidal.

Loghain and Leliana ended up, against my better judgement, on the first watch together. Loghain insisted. _Damn his paranoia._

I stayed awake for the first half of their watch, partly dreading, partly just unable to fall asleep. I listened in for any wild accusations our teyrn might have thrown, but they were silent. In fact, they were so silent that for a while I thought they both died, but then Leliana laughed at something.

“What?” That was Loghain's growl.

“Oh, I just realised that you actually are Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. You know. The one from stories.”

“Yes. I know. I am in them.”

“Exactly.” She followed that with more laughter.

A heavy sigh. “I really don't understand you.”

“See, it is like meeting a dragon. To me, at least.”

Well, Leliana, I rolled on the other side, the good bit is that we won't have to meet Andraste. It was probably my last thought before falling asleep.

I had horrible darkspawn nightmares and woke up Alistair for our watch with horrified screaming. At least that's what he told me. All I knew was that my throat was sore. It could have been a starting cold or flu.

The worried and pitying looks from others, however, were telling me it was not that case. In the cold morning camp I found myself craving a gentle hug. I was missing my boyfriend. But all I got was Wilde's attempts to lick me cheerful.

“Unless you stop looking at me like someone's just died,” I said as I was bringing the tent down, “I am going to make sure that someone really does.”

“I doubt that,” was Sten's cold reply. “I saw you in fight. You would not know a weapon from a griddle.”

That cut too close. After all, I was not a fighter. Duran might have been, but me? I was just there to be smart, sometimes draw pretty things. But I couldn't let anyone to know that, so I said: “Obviously you never got bashed in your head with a pan then.”


	5. Be Queer, Do Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The end of this chapter contains **graphic description of violence** (more or less) and **vomiting**. You can skip that part, it isn't really plot important and just serves to underline that psychically speaking our main hero (that is me) is not doing okay. If you don't want to read that bit, then when you start reading about having nightmares, consider the chapter concluded.

We entered Redcliffe with mixed feelings. For example I still felt rage bubbling within me for how Sten belittled me in front of everyone in the morning, but I was also trying to be cold and calculating. Alistair didn't seem comfortable in his skin, yet he was struck by nostalgia, so much was obvious. Leliana pondered what story was behind the name Redcliffe.

The place was mostly clay. And it was very red because it was rich in iron. That was all I could tell about that, because I didn't study geology and didn't learn why or how iron gets to be deposited into clay. I knew that the place came to be by once being either a lakebed or seabed. Could easily be both, too.

Officially Alistair gave us a break so we could get sorted whatever we wanted or needed sorting. The truth was that most of us was running away already. I left Wilde in charge of my pony, and made my way into the narrow alleys of the fish-village.

I was in luck, because I passed Dwyn and his hired thugs looming over a boat in the docks, inspecting it for... for whatever reasons. Good for me, because it meant that they weren't home.

All the homes seemed completely the same to me, but I walked led by a memory of a gamer who's done this way too many times than it is healthy. I arrived to Dwyn's house soon enough. _I could make a better hours out of a cardboard box._ The door was, predictably, locked. However a tug at the window revealed that nobody bothered to lock it, and a further inspection brought to my attention that there wasn't a way to lock it in the first place.

Entering a house through window has always seemed fun to me, it makes me feel roughish, like a burglar or something. Right now I even was a burglar. I took a moment to listen in, but there weren't any sounds from inside the house except for scurrying mice and rats.

I wasn't too worried about leaving a trail behind me. Fingerprint reading isn't a thing here yet. I hoped, anyway. And besides that, what could I leave behind? Some light hair which no one would notice? Maybe.

With certainty I moved to Dwyn's hidden chest, unrolled my blanket which I took with me and took out a set of lockpicks from the undone bundle. I had picked a lock before for the fun of it. I never picked a big medieval lock, though. It took some precious moments during which I felt my heart beating all the way up in my ears, but once I figured out the secret flavour is applying more force, it was an easy job. The padlock clicked and flung itself open.

The massive wooden lid was, simply put, heavy, and I nearly broke two or three fingers when I tried to lift it open, but the whole mission was completed only with a little damage to my dignity. Asala indeed was inside. And oh god. Oh my god. Maker's breath and Andraste's knickers.

She was beautiful. I usually reserve the “she” pronouns for ships and books I am fond of, but Asala was obviously a top tier lady. And she was so beautiful. No amount of HD graphics was actually able to do Asala justice.

Don't get me wrong, it was one bad bitch of a two-handed sword, taller than me and for narrative hyperbole I am going to say that it also was as heavy as the original me, the me that was not a dwarf. It was a huge blade obviously made for killing people without much fuss, and obviously it was used as such. No ornate stuff or anything fancy like that.

Asala was sexy and beautiful like automatic switchblades are beautiful, except she did the “snikt” through your skull.

I didn't have the time to be seduced by oversized cutlery, though. I was here to steal it, not have babies with it. I wrapped the greatsword in my blanket and secured the ends and the middle of the roll with a rope so nothing would fall out. Like sushi. _Thedas probably hasn't got sushi... yet._

I closed the crate, shut the padlock on it and then rolled out of the window after checking the street was clear. Closing the window behind myself though that this was the perfect crime. I could practically imagine the the upper left corner of my field of view seeing fancy script saying: “This action will have consequences.”

Given that we were going to Orzammar and would have to fight all the way to the Broodmother, I didn't think I would live up to see the actual consequences. As for now, however, it was time to get going. Sten, Loghain and Wilde were waiting up the hill wor the rest of us who weren't finished with out businesses yet.

“What's that?” Sten asked when I joined them to wait for Alistair and Leliana.

I was very busy petting Wilde and feeding him scraps of cheese. And even if I wasn't, we were far too close to Dwyn and his thugs to my liking, so I wouldn't show him anyway. Instead I said: “It's a secret mouse-thing that will help us later.”

“You are a queer one, Duran,” Loghain concluded with a sigh. _Man, you have no idea._

Alistair and Leliana turned up soon enough with two new tents, bedrolls, and clothing that could actually fit Sten and which I suspected was an old bed sheet before they repurposed it. Whoever did the stitching needed to work their technique, even I could tell that.

We continued on the road.

My rolled up blanket got a lot of suspicious looks through the day and so did I. Leliana asked me: “What is it?”

“A mouse thing,” replied Sten to her before I could even open my mouth.

Leliana's face scowled as she was puzzled by the answer. It looked cute on her, her nose wrinkly and cheeks puffed up. “What is a mouse thing?”

“That. Obviously.”

“Sten, if you don't know, you can just say so,” Leliana told him and ignored everything else told to her, because otherwise she would lose her temper. She was also very cute when she was angrily red in the face.

Alistair was walking next to my pony and from time to time he poked the blanket and tried to take a peek, but all he could see was, much to his disappointment, more blanket.

“Duran,” Loghain gave up as we were making a stop for a lunch – that meant for me to cut slices of bread and put some cheese and dried meat on it while others refilled our waterskins from a nearby stream – “please, just show them the mouse thing. For the sake of my sanity, because if anyone makes another attempt to find out what it is, I am going to strangle someone with my nerves.”

I put down the bread I was wrestling with, and took my blanket roll.

“Please, tell me it's not actually mice,” Leliana said.

I revealed Asala. There was long silence from all around me, only Wilde happily huffed, because he managed to snatch the discarded smoked fish heads thinking we hadn't noticed. As if he wasn't going to get them anyway.

“I'll be honest,” Alistair rubbed his chin which was in dire need of shaving, “I don't really see the whole mouse thing here.”

I wasn't really paying attention to him, though. I was watching Sten. Sten, in turn, was watching me as if I was about to combust into magical storm or something. When he spoke, it was really simple, even though his voice was notably shaking: “How?”

“Once upon a time I was an educated person,” I told him, particularly proud of it, since it wasn't even a lie. “I don't know much about the Qun, but I couldn't notice that for a Sten you were particularly disassembled.”

“Hmm... Why?”

I grinned: “Well, we can't let you run around all indecent, can we? We have some reputation to uphold.”

Leliana mumbled: “I am... not really catching up.”

“It is my sword. He brought it back to me. I thought it lost.”

“I hate to be that person to break this very touching moment,” Alistair chimed in, “but if we don't want to loose the time we got by not sleeping in Redcliffe, we should get beck on the road.”

“I love to be that person. Everyone, get moving!”

“Yes, Loghain,” we replied in unison.

For a split second it looked like Sten was going to hug Asala when he grabbed it from the blanket, but it turned out that I was just reading way too much into it.

Yesterday I killed a man, today I robbed a house, not to mention my whole existence here was basically identity theft. I wondered what crime was I going to commit tomorrow. _Tax fraud, perhaps?_ Or maybe regicide once we get to Orzammar, but that depends entirely up to Bhelen.

That evening we sat camp on a bank of the Lake Calenhad where the water was overgrown with thick reed groove or maybe it was cat-tail. I never learned the difference except that there was at least one. Besides it was too dark to tell what exactly it was except bunch of thick stalks growing out of the more or less clean water.

Since the water was cleaner that we were and Alistair brought soap we used the thick reeds as a hint of privacy and took a bath. During the act Alistair caught two basses with his bare hands. The agreement was not to question it, so I gutted and cleaned them and we roasted them over the fire. They were a bit muddish in taste and slightly soapy, but It was the best seasoning I had at hand.

With the help help of a comb I borrowed from Leliana I spent the rest of the evening brushing out my still damp hair and beard. I have always been of the opinion that hair deserves all the care but none the mercy. As it was, the best care I could offer to them was to wash them with soap. I never learned how to braid my own hair, because I can only braid what I see, so I had to do with a ponytail, but with the beard I had gone a bit wild and lost track of time. When I looked up, it was because I lost my light.

That was because Sten was standing over me. We had been put up on the first watch together and the rest already went to sleep, as it seemed.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to express my gratitude to you for finding my _asala._ Thank you.” It would have been less creepier if there was at least a hint of emotion in Sten's voice. I had always liked him in Origins, but in real life he was not exactly the soothing presence I imagined him to be. Sten in Origins could crush my ribs and I'd thank him. This Sten would crush my ribs and I'd die. Big buff ominously silent dudes just are cute in theory.

“Sure. No problem.” I only broke and entered into someone's home and robbed him. Although I wasn't sure if stealing from Dwyn really counted. That was, he definitelly counted, but I didn't count him, because hey, he was a criminal already. I think. The wiki said he is supposedly a loan shark, right?

Sten didn't leave, though. He was still standing there. Whatever it was on his mind, it took a while to roll out on his tongue. But it did in the end: “However, you are still not a fighter.”

I had to agree: “Yes, that's fair.”

“I believe what you heard me say was ‘You are a bad fighter.’ and that is not what I said. I said that you are not a fighter at all.”

“No, no, I got you. I could be a bad fighter if I really worked on myself.”

He watched me as I continued to braid my beard. After a moment he concluded: “It is a miracle you are still alive.”

I finished with the last bead that I had and sighed. “Look, Sten, have you got some point here that you are trying to make, or is it just that the only person you can complain to about me is, well, me?”

“I do not understand why are you here. The man, Loghain, he is a leader and a warrior. The Grey Warden was chosen for this task as a representative of the Order. Leliana believes that her god commands her to follow the Grey Warden, and she has me as her weapon. Why are _you_ here?”

“Well,” I put down the comb, “Alistair wanted to get back at me because I basically cancelled a battle with the darkspawn in which a lot of people would die without actually achieving anything, but he wanted to fight in it. I also make decent decisions and I can cook.”

Sten considered it for a moment. “So you are here to find swords and make soup?”

When put like that, basically it summed it up rather well, right? So I nodded. Sten didn't say anything after that, though. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because his face was unreadable. I myself felt quite terrible about that exchange.

After all, why was I here? As far as everyone was concerned I was just an additional weight. By now everyone had to have figured out that I couldn't fight, Sten was just the first one to say it out loud. My only advantage was that I knew a very specific version of the future skewed by game mechanics. And that future wasn't going to happen because of me in the first place. And even if that wasn't the case, I couldn't just tell people. In better case they'd think I was some spirit from the Fade. In the worst case... I didn't know what could happen in the worst case, but I probably wouldn't survive it. They could give me to the Chantry where I'd get tortured for prophecies that I couldn't say, maybe? In that moment it sounded like something that could definitely happen.

I couldn't fall asleep after my watch was over. Since we had new tents, I slept alone, but I was still quite certain I would have the obligatory Grey Wardens' nightmares, and I wasn't looking forward to that. I only wished that they'd be like most of the dreams I had through my previous life – ones that I didn't remember in the morning. I had to fall asleep eventually, though, because the nightmares indeed came. These weren't the regular stuff, though. They seemed far less... real.

They started with Alistair. I was aware that it was a dream, aware enough that I found myself hoping it was not a wet dream. Never had those, and I didn't think Alistair was a good one to start with.

For some reason I had claws. For some reason I tore Alistair apart with my clawed hands. He screamed a lot, and so did I. I didn't want to do it, but I had to. I couldn't stop. There were scraps of flesh and tendons stuck behind my nail-claws, there was thick blood making its way down to my elbows, kind of like water when doing dishes, except dishwater isn't sticky and doesn't smell like blood. It was like when I was gutting the fish for dinner. The same slimy. Except it was Alistair.

I wanted to turn around and wake up or at least run, but behind me was Leliana. She saw me. She had to see everything I did here. I couldn't let her to tell anyone, even if she was just a dream figment of my imagination.

I tried to hit her, but she was faster and rolled away. She didn't have any skin on the side that had been averted to me, her thin blouse was stuck to her bleeding back. When she turned my face to me again, she hissed and her whole head distorted. It sunk on itself until it was practically sharp bones tearing through think skin. The tongue was too long and the teeth were too many. Human skull doesn't look like this. She lunged at me.

I woke up just as not-Leliana's splintered jaw was to close around my neck. I stared at the side of my assigned tent, sticky with sweat and shivering as if I had cold. My stomach was turning upon itself and my mouth tasted as if it was full of blood. I knew what this meant, but for some reason it took me too long to will my limbs to allow me to move.

With great effort I half-blindly stumbled outside somewhere into the reeds and threw up into the mud. I tried to identify anything from the yesterday's dinner, but it all seemed to be just bile. Which would have been fine, but it was jet black. I rinsed my mouth with a handful of lakewater from a nearby muddy pool. Now mouth tasted more like mud and less like bile, which still was an improvement.

I killed a man. I killed a living and thinking being. He probably had some aspirations in life. People who missed him now. Sure, it was either me or him, but I killed him anyway. I didn't even kill him well, I punctured his lung. He most likely drowned in his own blood. The best part? I most likely would have to do that again to make it through here.

I put myself a bit together – that meant I put myself together enough to pretend I never lost it in the first place – and headed back to the camp. The sky was beginning to turn purple-grey, making a tall silhouette of a distant tower stand out black against the lightening background. I supposed that tower was the Kinloch Hold the magi tower, and that in that direction was the east.

At the camp was Loghain keeping vigilant watch, and Alistair who was supposed to be keeping it with him, but was slumped against Loghains shoulder. From time to time he snored like a guinea-pig and often his face and fingers twitched.

“I would really appreciate it if you stopped screaming from sleep,” Loghain told me as a way of a good morning.

I rubbed my eyes to get myself a bit more awake. “Yeah,” I agreed, “me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No comments yet? Feed comments? Inky gremlin hungry.


	6. All the King's Terrible Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fine dwarven fuckery, direct from Orzammar.

Over the course of the next few days we made a significant progress on our way. What made us slow down was Alistair's insistence on leaving behind the horses; in the Frostback Mountains we wouldn't have how to feed them, at at the pace we had been urging them to move we would have killed them soon anyway. Teyrn Loghain saw it a reasonable thing, and so we left the animals in the last settlement along the Imperial Highway which still belonged to the Edgehall arling, which happened to be Taigren Keep.

“It's called that because it sits in a a middle of a pond,” Loghain explained.

I wasn't that good in dwarven, but I knew some words and phrases. About five or six. But “ren” and “thaig”with silent h belonged among them, so I asked: “Excuse me, but is this like when you told me not to turn my back to the pony, or is this place for real called Keep Pool Keep?”

“As far as I know, the surface dwarves who built it called it Taigren. The Keep part was added by the rest of Fereldans.” Loghain chuckled and it was a very grim sound: “So yes. It is Keep Pool Keep.”

“I still do not understand it,” Leliana complained while kicking a pebbles off of the bridge as we were returning back on the main road. “You said that if we give the horses away in the next over village, they won't return to you, but if we do it here they might. Do the couriers get killed over the hill or what?”

“Your Orlesian education did not cover Fereldan geography and fealty system, did it?”

“It did. Sort of. I know that there are some tiers like you-”

“Teyrns, Leliana, teyrns.”

“Right. Then there are arls, and then there are banns. But all three of them have banners, so no way to tell them apart, actually.” Leliana's not-French but Orlesian accent made her sound like a pirate when she said the world “arl”. It went on the list of things that were cute about her. “And the whole charade is ruled by a king, if anyone listens to him. Very confusing.”

“Not really. Banns rule over a spot of land. When a bann with a bigger spot or greater power appears among them, he might get the idea to take over their bannorns. So the banns swear fealty and the more powerful bann becomes an arl. The banns who have sworn fealty are obliged to do as their arl commands, and in turn they hope he or she never commands anything. On the same principle works the teyrnship, but it is a step higher. Some banns swear fealty to a teyrn outright and skip the arl. Effectively Ferelden's fealty is split between the Teyrn of Highever, and the Teyrn of Gwaren.”

“That's you,” Alistair pointed out, probably because he wanted to show that he didn't sleep through all of his school.

Leliana rubbed her brow: “What's it to do with the horses, though?”

“The Lord of Taigren is sworn to the Arl of Edgehall who in turn is sworn to me. Without a doubt Taigren will mention me passing through here in a report. And it is better than to give the horses away to Highever. Bryce's been trying to oust me out of Denerim for years now, Fade take me if I give him horses just because it is convenient.”

 _Isn't Highever supposed to be a hot mess right now?_ I've never been the Human Noble, but the Couslands were killed out... right?

“If Ferelden is self-governing as you put it,” Leliana said slowly, “then what do you need the King for?”

Alistair answers that with a manic smile: “Someone has to bash together the the hot heads of overambitious nobles when they decide they want to have the rights to fish on the other side of the river. Civil wars have been started for less.”

When I noticed Leliana's horrified expression, I tried to cheer her up: “Don't worry. We are going to be in Orzammar soon. The politics there are far closer to the Orlesian school.” Needless to say that it did nothing to soothe anyone.

“Humans are beyond saving,” Sten concluded and tossed a stick for Wilde to fetch. Wilde returned with an unidentified muddy object, an UMO if you will, which he proudly brought to me.

“What's that? And don't,” Alistair put on a warning tone, “say a mouse thing.”

 _Killjoy._ “I have no idea. I'll find out once I wash it.”

“I hope it's not cake.” We all agreed with Leliana, it had been nice of Wilde to bring us a cake, but we were slightly traumatised, as the cake was... past its prime, to put it mildly. It was past its worst, too. We knew it was a cake, because there was a candle in it, but otherwise the mould nearly stood up on its own legs and walked away.

Sten noted: “He picks up many pebbles. Perhaps the mud is for diversity.”

That was true, but I had told Wilde to do that. From time to time along the road I found small fragments of frozen lightning and lifestone or its enchanted variant. Probably lost and left behind by merchant caravans or messy travellers. I was actually hoping to get my grubby hands on a book regarding alchemy so I could use them in... something.

Of course, when Alistair had it pointed out by the words of me becoming a magpie, I had replied that I was going to sell them to someone, because our money weren't going to last forever.

“We are in the company of the Teyrn of Gwaren,” Alistair had protested.  
“Ask him for five coppers to buy a pair of socks that hasn't got holes in them, I dare you.”

Loghain had cut that conversation short when he had risen a complaint that he could hear us all the way to the front of our procession. The point of that was that I had asked Wilde, who didn't judge me in any way, to search for magic pebbles.

Anyway, the large mud ball that my best dog found for me turned out to be a full plate helmet of the shape and elegance of a bucket. It had been forgotten for some time, as at spots it was rusty, but I managed to scrub it out of the worst. That was also what I was wearing the ninth day after our passing through Redcliffe when our group was allowed to step through the gates of Orzammar.

The good thing about Orzammar was that after a week spent in the shadows of the Frostback Mountains the underground kingdom was nice and warm. The bad thing about Orzammar... well, where to even start?

Since this time around Loghain was sort of on the Grey Warden's side, there were no bounty hunters to fight and no people to argue with and maybe send back to Denerim in a small box. King Endrin, however, was still very much dead, and the Assembly was still unable to vote on a new king. With the exception of me everyone was extremely disappointed.

We were pointed to the Grey Warden Embassy, which I hadn't know that it was a thing. It didn't look like it was used frequently, but there were beds and a kitchen and a large dining room and a couple of empty office rooms and studies, and a library which had whole two shelves of books, mostly on history of Orzammar.

The company gathered around me in the kitchen where they weren't getting in my way. We had to cook from our rations, because the pantry was devoid of any food. It had a cask of dwarven ale, and I strongly suggested that we didn't want to get into it.

“There is no king, and the Assembly will not help us!” Loghain was practically fuming. He was taking out his frustration on potatoes which I handed to him to cut, because he looked like he needed to cut something to pieces, and better potatoes than me.

“Duran, what do we do? We can't just wait here,” Alistair said.

“Hey, why are you asking me. You are in charge.”

“And you are a dwarf.”

I had to tell them some day, might make it today: “Not legally.”

They seemed to take a moment to digest it. Finally Leliana asked: “What do you mean ‘not legally’? Is there an illegal way to be a dwarf?”

Loghain's potatoes were taken from him and unceremoniously dumped into the pot to boil. “I am saying,” I said, “that Orzammar has laws which define who is and who is not a dwarf. And by those laws I am not a dwarf.”

Alistair frowned: “But you look like a dwarf.”

“And soap looks and even smells like a candy, but guess what: it's not,” I replied.

“You also smell like a dwarf.”

“Well... thank you for your words of support, Sten.”

Loghain, no longer able to perform kitchen acts of violence, snapped: “Your status of legal existence aside, Warden, do you know anything that is at least remotely useful in our situation?”

 _Ho boy, do I?_ “The Assembly can hold itself in this deadlock for years or until one of the candidates winds up dead in mysterious circumstances. Grey Wardens, though, have a kind of renown in Orzammar, and as a newly arriving independent party we could sway the opinions of vote of those deshyrs who haven't been bought yet, or weren't paid that much. Don't look at me like that, politics is business. It's always been.”

“You do realise that the choice of the King of Orzammar will influence Ferelden too, yes?” Loghain glared at me.

I stated the obvious: “Then we maybe don't want to pick the king at random. Sten, would you pass me the turnip? Thank you.”

“It would help,” Alistair sighed, “if we knew at least something about the candidates.”

“Oh, those aren't that difficult. Bhelen is the only living son of Endrin. He is a bit shady around the edges, he'd sell his auntie to get influence, but also he is progressive and as far as Orzammar goes he has practical views. Mhm, have we got any marjoram around here? Harrowmont on the other hand is all about honour and tradition, very dwarven, quite the agreeable guy and somewhat of a scholar, but he could also decide to seal Orzammar off of the surface and leave the rest of Thedas to fend for themselves.”

I peppered the soup and in some details, such as Rica, the Shaperate, gave them the brief about the castes. It was something our group pondered about while we ate the soup. Apparently Alistair wasn't decided yet, because he asked me: “If you voted – and no one bought you or anything like that – who would you vote for?”

I wished I knew more about Duran, Bhelen's once-upon-a-time older brother. Sadly he didn't leave behind a journal of his political views, so I had to improvise: “Bhelen. Loosening up the corset means more recognition and chances for the surface folk like me.”

“Even though he is a shady opportunist? Even though he stands against many dwarven traditions?”

I gave that a shrug: “In Orzammar if you are not a shady politician, it just mean you are really good at lying... or dead. In the Prince I see this as a hint of honesty, really. And, well, I am of the opinion that traditions should be people's foundations, not their limitations.”

“That's a good phrase,” Loghain muttered. “I like that one. Foundations, not limitations.”

 _Back off, hotshot, that is copyrighted material right there._ Then I had a minor internal crisis for thinking about Loghain as of a hotshot. Sure, he had brought a bow, but still.

“Alright. So Bhelen. For the good of Thedas, and the fucking support for the Wardens,” Alistair concluded. “I don't suppose it's going to be as easy as marching into the Assembly again, claiming that we are with Bhelen and whoever opposes us is an idiot, right?”

“No, the Grey Wardens don't have that kind of renown. But a Paragon could do that,” I said.

“What is this Paragon?” Sten asked?

“The official description uses the words ‘living ancestor’, but basically it's a hero. A living legend. Paragons are chosen for extraordinary deeds. Right now, though, Orzammar has only one Paragon. Her name is Branka. Some years back she packed off for the Deep Roads and hasn't returned yet. If we could find Branka, who isn't known for subtlety a honeyed tongue, she could practically crown a new king by herself.”

“Alright, Duran. But what if she doesn't choose Bhelen?”

“Does it matter, Leliana?” Loghain muttered over his last spoonful of soup. “We need a king to get troops. If it's Bhelen Aeducan, it's a boon for us, but nothing more.”

I pulled out the metaphorical ace in my sleeve: “Bhelen isn't an idiot, certainly he's thought of this. But right now he needs all his loyal capable manpower here to protect his life and stop most of the fighting in the streets. But certainly he tried to look for Branka, most likely he sent scouts. If we could persuade him that we will find Branka on his behalf, we can pick up where his scouts left off. As a Grey Warden we can demand an audience.”

“That is a good idea. You should go, Alistair,” Loghain nodded.

“What?” He was horrified by the proposal. “Why me?”

The teyrn's smile faded back into his usual hard expression. “Because you are the highest ranking member of your order here. And you can take it as a part of your diplomatic training.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes: “My diplomatic training?”

Wilde sensed the storm coming and cleared his Mabari arse out of the kitchen. Sten followed him, because he trusted the dog's common sense more than the rest of ours put together. Which, like, fair, but also ow.

“You have to face the facts: with Cailan foolhardily risking his life on the front lines, it is a very real possibility that Ferelden will need a new king. I could take regency over Anora, but it would not last forever. You need to prepare for the possibility of becoming the next King of Ferelden, Alistair, and you better be a good. Your country will not take well if Maric's other son will also prove himself to be a weakling dreamer.”

Alistair very very slowly stood up from his chair. His voice was straining as he was forcing himself to speak calmly: “I am not son of Maric. Or anyone's son for that matter. And Fereldan is not my country; I am barely its Alistair. Nobody wanted me. My father never acknowledged my, my mother died upon my birth rather than to put up with me, Eamon had me shut off in a cloister to turn me into a mage-slaying lyrium-drooling maniac. My place is with the Grey Wardens. And I will stay there. You won't throw all the responsibilities on me just because they inconvenience you. If you want a spare king, make one, Your Lordship.”

And with that Alistair was outside of the kitchen before anyone of us could recover from the shock. The most shocked was me: _Did we manage to make Alistair hardened along the way somehow?_ I was of the opinion that we had to see Goldanna for that.

The second most shocked was Leliana. She need a moment to put a sentence together: “Alistair is Maric's son?”

Loghain shot her a look: “For a bard you are very poorly informed.”

“What- How- Why do you-”

“I am watching you, Orlesian.” He spat out the word “Orlesian” with as much vitriol as Alistair called him “Your Lordship”. And then that bastard left to avoid consequences.

That meant that I was left alone in the kitchen with Leliana sitting next to me. And that, in turn, meant that when Leliana started sobbing and crying, she did so on my shoulder.

I couldn't be torn apart by the darkspawn soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a limit of one f-word per chapter. Not always I claim it, but I reserve the right of one f-bomb per chapter. Sorry, I had to tell someone.


	7. The Song of Sons and Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We gotta go deeper. Alistair is competent. Everyone is tired.

Some minutes later I practically dragged Leliana, who ran out of tears, to the bedroom where I unceremoniously dumped her on the bed Loghain claimed purely to piss him off, because while I was fond of him on a personal level, he was a moron acting like a jackass and the only two reasons I did not go to slap him across the face was that he was too tall for me to reach, and also the consequences would be very unpleasant. So he got Leliana in his bed instead.

Wilde instantly rushed to her, licked her face. When Leliana snuggled him for comfort, he laid down on the bed. Very quickly Leliana fell asleep and Wilde was there with her as an emotional support pillow.

On my way back to the kitchen I noticed Sten in the armoury where he was, for the lack of a better word, dancing with Asala. It was somewhere between training and showing off. Meanwhile I in the kitchen started washing the dishes, because apparently I was the only one to whom it occurred it should be done.

When I was elbow deep in the soapy water and was dealing with the spoon, Alistair appeared in the doorway, somewhat puffy-eyed. My guess was that he had been crying, but I didn't point it out. He asked me for a tea, so I fixed a pot of tea.

It was elfroot and mint mix from what we picked along the way, and I drank it more than plain water, because it helped with the nightmares. It didn't help me, I still had them, but I no longer kept screaming through the night, which allowed others to get some decent sleeping time and spared me the sore throat each morning.

“So,” Alistair started when he was pouring himself a second mug, “since you get to know the workarounds here, if I need to talk to the Prince, how do I do it? I suppose I need an audience. How do I do that?”

“Hm. I'd search for his second. He'd be either in the Assembly, or in the royal palace.”

“Right. And I suppose this second takes it from there.”

“Pretty much. That's what seconds are for.”

“Great. Thanks.” He gave me a pat on the shoulder as he stood up from the chair, and left me to deal with the new batch of dishes.

Since no one apparently needed me for anything at the moment, I went to explore the embassy. It was a big building dug into the cavern wall, quite warm and fairly old. And dusty. I was opening all doors, finding more bedrooms and sitting rooms, places that were not built to be empty. I wondered how many Wardens embraced civilisation for the last time in these rooms before they headed off to heed the Calling.

The air behind the next door punched me in the nose with sharp stale acidic smell with a hint of disinfection. _Timber me shivers!_ I found a lab. I admired the equipment for a moment, and then the disgraced chemist in me made me run all the three flight of stairs back down to my bedroom, take my bundle of shiny pebbles, run upstairs again, and then start doing alchemy.

I proceeded to loose track of time besides that it was at least ten times fifteen minutes later Loghain found me among bubbling and cooling and crystallising flasks and controlled fires. I had to be quite the sight with the beard stuffed into my tunic so it wouldn't get into anything, and with goggles over my eyes. The goggles had diamond lenses. I was in love with them.

“Have you seen Alistair?”

“Some time ago, yeah. Don't step in there and don't touch that unless you want to loose those fingers.”

Loghain withdrew his hand and turned away from the flask of hydrochloric acid. “Is he done with his tantrum?”

 _If you call that a tantrum, you haven't seen him in the Landsmeet. Oh, right!_ Out loud I said: “Seemed like it, yeah.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“The palace, I suppose.” I took a few drops with pippete and sprayed them onto the ceramic tile in the corner. On impact the drops made a satisfying ball of fire which quickly disappeared and left behind only some sooty smears. I had only a very vague idea of how that worked, because while I had some chemistry, I understood none of the magic, and the cookbook I was going by explained it by Maker willing it to be so. I thought it had to do something with pressure. Anyway, to the distillation colony!

“Maker have mercy. If he did anything stu-”

From bellow I heard Allistair's muffled overjoyed shout: “We got it!”

I went to check as soon as possible, I just needed to stop the experiments and most of the pending processes at first. I learned the hard way that you don't want to leave a frostrock in ethanol – which in my case was brandy – standing on fire if you are not cautiously watching it at every moment. As I said, I was in love with the goggles.

Alistair met me on the stairs, apparently someone told him I was up there. He was practically beaming: “Get packing, we are hitting the Deep Roads tomorrow. I've got maps and notes and _everything_.”

I hadn't even unpacked, because I had a touch of foresight and the knowledge of what was happening here. I was just glad we could skip the fake papers and Jarvia. Especially Jarvia. As it was, I fist-bumped Alistair, because he did a very good job and he did it on his own, and returned to the lab.

We knew the morning because of the clock. There were a couple of clocks around Orzammar, in fact it was the only way of telling the time here. On the surface the best guess of time was by the hourglass, most people measured by the sun and the position of the sun. Needless to say that I was hopelessly lost at that, but I was literally the only person in our group who was not confused by the pendulum grandfather clock in the entrance hall of the Grey Warden Embassy.

So once the morning came, we headed out and off. Leliana wasn't looking really well. In fact, she looked a lot like mess. She hadn't been wearing any make-up, so her look wasn't a botched work. She probably didn't get enough sleep. Neither did I, but I stayed up late doing alchemy.

I even had evidence: My bag was full of flasks, and more were hanging around my belt. I was actually one toss of myself away from causing a cave in. Or one dwarf running into me on the stairs. I managed not to land flat but on my knees, so I didn't leave a vaguely Orzammar-shaped crater at the entrance to the deep roads, but it was close.

“Hey, I was standing there, you know!” I got back on my feet and dusted myself off. Only then I saw who ran into me.

The smell wasn't all that different from the Grey Warden Embassy laboratory, except I was very dubious that the sharp alcoholic stench was caused by sanitation. It was Oghren. And by the way, Oghren was taller than I, which was what really angered me. Oghren was tall. For a dwarf, anyway.

“Yea, outta my way,” he pushed me aside and went straight for Alistair. “You! You're the Grey Warden, right? You better be.”

Alistair pointed at me, which was not fair as I was making sure my helmet was properly on after my little tumble. “He is also a Grey Warden.”

“But you are in charge,” Oghren frowned. I concluded that he was more hungover than drunk. “And I've been privy to the rumour that you were searching for Branka on Prince Bhelen's own command.”

There were confused murmurs from the whole group that yes, that was us.

“Well,” Oghren sized us up, Sten especially, “if you're the best they've got, then standards must have fallen way down. But I suppose that would account for a human being down here. Say, could I ask you a favour?”

We all saw Loghain opening his mouth to say something along the lines that over his dead cold body. Which was why Leliana, who had gotten over her shock during the night and got into some fighting spirit, challenged him with a look, and smiled brightly: “Well of course. We are here to help, after all.”

“Name's Oghren, and if you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong.” He added a humourless chuckle before continuing: “And that's mostly true, but the part they never say is how I'm the only one still trying to save our only Paragon. And if you're looking for Branka, I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her.”

_First, you are not the only one, there is me. Second, can't you just say “fucking” like a normal person?_

Since Alistair was privy to neither my knowledge not my internal comments, he asked: “So, what's the favour, then?”

“She went to a lost thaig. I searched as far as I could, but... eh, it would take a team of warriors searching weeks on end to cover enough ground to hope to find it. Which, I assume, is just what Bhelen's men have done. And they shared what they found with you.” Was that just me or was Oghren not actually as stupid as I had always believed him to be?

“It was Prince Bhelen, actually,” Alistair pointed out.  
“Ah, nug or mud-wallower. Anyway, they haven't found Branka herself, and that means whatever they've got, it's not enough if you don't know what she was looking for. If we pool our knowledge, we stand a chance of finding Branka. Otherwise, good sodding luck.”

_Seriously, Oghren, there are no children around. You don't have to use such a cheap censurship._

Loghain groaned: “As if we weren't enough of a circus already.”

“Perfect,” Oghren grinned and got me tipsy with his breath. “What's one more, eh?”

Sten was the only one to repay him the smile in kind, and even then I was not sure if he was on the joke or just finding a loophole in how to annoy us and claim innocence.

“Branka,” Oghren explained as he fixed the battleaxe on his back, “was a briliant girl, but half the time she'd add two and two and make it fifty. You want to find her, you need someone who knows how she thinks.”

Alistair sounded wary. It probably only now got to him that Oghren is joining. “All... right?”

“Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void. Might have been the most important invention in Orzammar's history.”

“For a what now... Oghren, was it?” Loghain was maintaining his distance, but it sparked his curiosity.

“Anvil of the Void,” I said instead of Oghren. “Paragon Caridin made the golems with it. They defended Orzammar for centuries. But Cairdin got lost and the Anvil with him, and eventually most of the golems got lost too.”

“Hmm...” Loghain drew out slowly and thoughtfully, “I used to know a golem. Finding the Anvil of the Void would certainly be useful.”

“Yes. And the name is not at all very ark and ominous, promising a great price and danger in exchange for those golems,” Leliana muttered.

Oghren jumped back on the track: “As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built it in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking from there if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past the Caridin's Cross. No one's seen that thaig for five hundred years.”

“And we have a map to lead us to that crossroad,” Alistair cheered.

“If we're going, let's get moving,” Oghren nodded.

“Yes. Paragons are not swords. They must be sought harder,” Sten agreed. And because it felt like we exhausted all the dialogue options, we indeed got moving.

I was thinking that we would get to Cairdin's Cross without a problem. In theory I was not wrong. But as we were descending through the cavers, my head began to... do things. Or rather hear things. A melody like crystal bells which entered my body through the nose and couldn't get out. It resonated through my helmet and echoed through the little space around and through my head. I had to sit down.

I had... never felt anything like that. Was this claustrophobia? I had never been claustrophobic. Was it something I ate.

“Huh,” Oghren stopped when he noticed me lagging behind. “Guys, hold on. Stop, I say. Don't you rush off.”

He came over to me and practically forced me to sit down on the stone floor.

“Haven't been home for some time, have you? No, you haven't lost the sense yet. But it did kick you, it really did. The surface really changes people. Here, this will help.”

I had absolutely no idea what he was going to do, because in that moment my sight was beginning to fade to give way to the hearing. My hearing was mostly static, blue, with hints of ozone scent. And then it snapped away and the dim light of the shrine fires hit my eyes. Oghren stood before me with my rusting helmet in hands. He was looking genuinely unimpressed.

“Look, I had seen that before. It'll settle in some hours. Just don't trip over your shoes until she stops creaming at you,” Oghren said, and then turned around to leave me to deal with it.

I gave myself a moment to catch my breath and make sure I wasn't going to faint, and then I got up and followed our ragtag group of adventurers. The Stone was humming into my ear. Oghren was right, though. It soon began to be a background noise, a subconscious “you are here”. I also stopped paying it attention because I had the feeling we were approaching a metal concert.

That was a complete idiocy, of course. There were no metal concerts in Thedas, and if they were, I wouldn't automatically have he urge to avoid or kill them. The low bass resonating with me and the building up noise drawing my attention somewhere to my left, that was in fact-

“Darkspawn,” Alistair hissed and drew his sword. “Close by. You know the drill.”

“I don't, actually,” Leliana whispered.

“Just kill them until they stop moving,” I whispered back. “And then some, just to be sure.”

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

And there went Oghren. _Berserks._


	8. Somebody Shut Oghren up, Please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep Roads are driving us mad. We don't get high on mushrooms, and we refuse to see Sten naked. I sing a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> [We All Lift Together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yIELWjG8Tc) ("Free Marches Song")

If you ever get strangled in Thedas and find yourself surrounded by the darkspawn, don't set fire to them. Trust me. The smell is not worth it. That advice goes for electricity too, because it also basically fries them. I had to throw two fire flasks to learn that lesson. Don't repeat my mistakes.

“They smell like lamb roast,” Leliana sighed and kicked a charred corpse.

“Yeah, but don't eat them,” Alistair warned her promptly. “It's practically poison. The taint will get you and turn you into a ghoul.”

I said. “Here is a thought – does that apply to Grey Wardens too? We are immune to the taint... in the very specific meaning of the word.” I noticed Alistair turning very green which meant he now was thinking about it, so I added: “Or maybe forget it. I have a vague idea where these things have been. Not even a ton of garlic could probably fix that.” Besides, I never have grown of lamb or sheep on the table. Most likely because I wasn't really used to it, but it just never vibed with me.

Nevertheless we moved past the first darkspawn ambush with ease. We were some five or six kilometres away from the Orzammar entrance to the Deep Roads, and were following Loghain's directions which he with a lot of struggles delivered to us from the map. He snatched the map from Alistair practically at the first crossroad, because “You barely know which way is up, let alone what it means!” and then proceeded to get us geographically mistaken – not lost, never lost – four times so far. To give both him and Alistair some credit, it was more of fault of the cartography skills of Bhelen's scouts.

My primary concern concern regarding our little crazy expedition, was water. It turned out to be a waste of a good worry, because water was practically everywhere, and as long as you boiled it over and filtered it through the Alchemist's Flask of Cleaning (Patent pending, please contact Ansal Hirol for further infromation or a bulk buy for your expedition, buy now! Do not hesitate! Removes up to 97 % of lyrium taint from your water source!), it was good to go.

“Except that one,” Oghren pointed out. “That one has this ugly metal in it. I know some merchants give a good price for the water from here, because they make a green paint out of it. And poison. Mainly poison.”

“Ah. Arsenic,” I nodded knowingly. It was our third day underground, and having crossed several caverns with lava, and our group setting the camp down here, I decided to do some light washing of our clothes here. So far the darkspawn hadn't been able to found us by the smell, and I was intending to keep it that way.

By the smell the water was not only full of arsenic, it had a fair amount of sulphur in it too. It had a mild side effect that not everybody was pleased with, and no, it was not skin poisoning as I was slightly afraid. Namely, the problem was Alistair's complaint: “That was my last flea'd shirt. You killed them all, you monster.”

“Alistairs, fleas aren't healthy for you,” I pointed out to him.

“You said the same thing about the bedbugs. And the lice. And the tapeworm. I was glad that I had company, and you killed them off one by one!”

I did not have the nerves to argue with medieval fantasy hygiene standards which weren't exactly matching my personal tastes brought over from the somewhat absurd beginning of the twenty-first century, so I only sighed and said: “Look, I am honestly sorry about the tapeworm, I admit my hand slipped with the spices. But honestly, if you so much want to have some parasites get fat on you, just pay taxes.”

There were some choking sounds from where Loghain was sitting, and then a loud thud, and then some coughing.

Leliana smiled very warmly at the teyrn: “You know, it is actually an Orlesian custom that when you hit somebody in the back so he doesn't choke on his soup to hold a dagger in that hand. I hope you can excuse my manners.”

Loghain did not comment. He was happy to breathe as it was. However, he seemed mildly amused, but whether it was by my or Leliana's comment, both or something unrelated, I couldn't really tell. Therefore I proceeded to ignore the group and returned to my washing. I still had three sleeping mats, two whole tents, and a modest pile of clothes to take care of.

Sten was wrapped in a blanket and was making very hesitant and unsure attempts at cooking under Alistair's command. He insisted that as long as he has Asala he was not naked, but Alistair did not accept that argument, hence the blanket.

“What are you humming?”

I found out it was addressed to me, but only when Leliana tapped on my shoulder and repeated her question. Was I humming? Oh. I was.

“It's, uh, a song.”

“You don't have to tell me,” she smiled. “Especially if it's a secret. A love song or so. Songs should keep their secrets, yes?”

That wasn't exactly it. But she would inevitably ask me how did I come to know that song, and if I claimed it was dwarven, Oghren would call me out on it. And how would I explain Warframe to Leliana? Or to anyone here, really?

Of course, I was speaking sooner before I could think all this, so I said: “Oh no, not at all. It's a working song.” At that moment the brain caught up with me, so I added: “I think it comes from the Free Marches, but I am not sure. I caught it on my way to Ostagar.”

“Free Marches, yes? Would you share it with me?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

Duran's voice wasn't one for singing, but We All Lift Together, in my opinion anyway, sounds a lot like a dwarven song, so that made up for it partially. I hade to keep it quiet, though, because I was not keen on leaving everything behind to run away from a bunch of whatever would find our camp.

_Cold the air and water flowing..._

Loghain stretched his legs, nearly pushing his heels into the fire. That's what he got for putting his socks on before they could dry properly, cold feet. “You know, this reminds me of the rebellion under Maric. Sure, there was the part where everyone is in constant danger of dying, but it was a sort of a homely comfort.”

_...hard the land we call our home._

“You consider battlefield your home?” Sten didn't look up from his thin enough to see through slices of mushroom. He and Wilde had found them earlier, and we all hoped they were edible, or at least not poisonous.

_Push to keep the dark from coming._

“Well, not legally. That's Gwaren.”

_Feel the weight of what we-_

Oghren cleared his throat, spat out an ugly green blob, and when he was certain he had our full attention, he proclaimed: “So I've been meaning to ask this for a while: how comes this merry group of sods supports Bhelen?”

Alistair turned around – he nearly flipped the pan over into the campfire while he was at it – and quirked his brows: “And what is that supposed to mean? Lord Harrowmont would have Orzammar sealed shut if he had his way. We still have the interest of the surface in mind. Not to mention we need troops, and yesterday was late.”

“You don't understand a sodding shit. How comes that he,” he jabbed one gnarled finger in my general direction, “let's you do that?

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Loghain had to withdraw his feet from the warm spot, because they were getting in a real danger of being added into the mushroom... whatever Alistair was cooking. I was going to give the mushrooms a try either way in the hope that he would manage to cook them out of taste and texture as was his usual.

“Oh,” Oghren started laughing, “this is rich. So Duran didn't tell you anything, huh? Not about his brothers or his family at all?”

Alistair with mild confusion: “He hasn't got one.”

“Legally, maybe, yeah.” While Oghren was at spilling Duran's beans, he took a swift swig from his canteen. “But he's Bhelen's older brother. Prince-Commander Duran, the for so long waited chief strategist of Orzammar, exiled for killing the eldest of the three of King Endrin's sons, Trian. But lately there's been a lot of rumour it was staged, you know. Ha! I can't believe you didn't know!”

“Prince Duran?” asked Alistair and Leliana at the same moment when Loghain and Sten blurted out: “Chief strategist?”

I threw the last washed shirts over the makeshift clothsline. “So what? Duncan has obviously a type when picking his recruits. Unlike Alistair here, though, I am more of a political hindrance here rather than a leverage. Unless anyone has anything useful to add to this, Wilde, get over hear. Alistair is not the only one getting rid of the fleas.”

Unlike Alistair, the Mabari are smart enough to be overjoyed when they are getting thoroughly washed.

I was hoping the whole Aeducan thing was behind us, but I was to be proven wrong the very next day, or whatever passed as a day here in the underground, because when we finally reached Caridin's Cross, Alistair turned to me: “So about the whole Prince thing-”

“Are you really more concerned with the Prince thing rather than the murdered-his-won-brother thing?”

“Errr... a little, yes. But you didn't do it, right?”

I shrugged. “Does it matter, really? The Assambly says that I am guilty of fratricide. For that crime I was stripped of my family and name, honour and past and any future I could have. They took away my whole being and left a dwarf-shaped mistake in the world supposed to disappear forever in the Deep Roads. And there... there I found Duncan. Not a Prince. Not a murderer. Just a something looking to be someone. Anyone. And he made me a Grey Warden. So... that's everything what I am.”

“Very poetic and meaningful,” Alistair nodded. “I wanted to ask you about the whole prince-ing.”

 _Oh._ What a way to make a fool of myself. _And we all lift..._

“But uh,” Alistair continued, “I understand it's probably not the time.”

“No, no. It's alright, ”

_And we're all adrift..._

“I hate to admit it, but Loghain is right,” Alistair sighed in site of Loghains humourless chuckling from somewhere in the front where he was nose-deep in the shabby maps we were given. “I... Ferelden might need to substitute me for Cailan. And if it ever comes to it, well, I wouldn't have the faintest of how to... I thought you could help me with it. That we could... figure it out... together.”

_Together!_

I had the feeling that we had crossed some sort of an invisible barrier there. As if we walked through a cold fog and now stood in warm haze.

_Through the cold mist..._

As we approached the crossroad itself, I had the feeling I was forgetting something. It was making me somewhat nervous. My heart was beating in my throat, filling my chest like a distant bass.

_...'till we're lifeless together._

Oh right. The darkspawn ambush with brontos.

_Togehter!_

“Couldn't you two say something?” Loghain complained from the front as a genlock tried and failed to cut his head off.

Cut off to a fighting scene full of smell of roasted lamb (according to Leliana) or pork (according to me) or darkspawn (according to Alistair).

According to the deep wisdom of Jason Mendoza there is no problem in the world at which you couldn't chuck a good Moltov coctail and it wouldn't be a whole different problem. I didn't have a Molotov at hand, but I had a flask of liquid fire, and I had Oghren's putrid ethanol soaked breath, and I had the aim of a family-league petanquist who always scored as fourth between my mum, her boyfriend, my sister, and I.

Later, when we had rushed through all sooty and bloody and smoked like a ham, and the roadsigns informed us that the Ortan thaig was ahead of us, Oghren offered to rename Caridin's Cross to Duran's Oven.

I agreed that sure, we could do that that, but Oghren was the next to do the laundry.

Caridin's Cross remained Caridin's Cross.


	9. Are We There Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many character-exploring paragraphs do we have to get through to finally to get to the Anvil of the Void?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a part-time job, more or less. Which is that for my general practitioner I call all her patients to collect their e-mail addresses so she can send them mails. After three hours of customer-service voice repeating three lines over and over and over I am in my best mind to murder some people rather than blurt out more words for a fic or anything else. as such, I made very little progress here in writing, but I moved in Dragon Age 2 far enough to consider myself ready to start night-time Kirkwall quests.

To the surprise of everyone but me, the Ortan Taig was full of ill-tempered ghosts, spiders and darkspawns. Much to my amazement in the fighting turmoil we killed the spider queen without me noticing. The lack of game mechanics had some perks after all. Alright, one perk altogether, but still it was something at least.

While everyone was busy following Oghren around where he was tracking Branka from chipped stones and footprints, I was scourging the thaig for any and all writing. There was still Orta in the Shaperate who still had to raise her family up. There were generations and generations of knowledge lost here.

However, since my bag was packed with flasks and I still had a lot of them, I couldn't git in many papers and books. Besides, I couldn't read dwarven runes. As it was, I grabbed a bunch of books at random, took tracing of a lot of wall-of-texts, and what I thought were the Ortan Memories, because they were made from lyrium and sung at me. One of the runes bit me in my mind when I tried to touch it.

With my bag somewhat heavier Wilde and I returned to Oghren who was surrounded by the rest of our merry party. Oghren wasn't merry, though. He was clutching something to his chest, and he was sobbing.

“I know that literature has the power to move heart of stone,” Sten told me as a way of explanation, “but I suspect foul magic at play here. The dwarf has yet to open the book in itself.”

I said: “I am fairly sure that he's just found the journal of his long lost wife and is too sober to cope with it right now.”

“His wife?” Loghain turned my way.

“Branka.” Then I noticed the puzzled expressions all around. “Wait, we haven't covered that? In the what, the week we are here? Oghren and Branka are married!” Jesus fucking Christ, did Oghren not mention it? Actually... I don't remember him saying it. Not recently, anyway.

I didn't believe Loghain to be that dense, so he asked just to be an ass: “Since when?”

“Since yesterday. Don't you remember the huge ceremony? You must have drunk quite a lot of you forgot the whole wedding.” Credits to Oghren for getting his act together enough to bonk Loghain's knee with the journal. He wiped his face and blown his nose, and finally started listing through the journal.

“Still, it doesn't make much sense to leave your journal behind, does it? Especially it seems there are free pages to the end,” Alistair pondered. Damn good question.

I didn't have time for this. I claimed: “We should head to Bownammar, to the Dead Trenches.”

Leliana pouted: “Are all dwarves so fond of ominous and foreboding naming for things and places? Why would we want to go somewhere named so... so spooky?”

“Well,” I said, “Branka is obviously not here, so that means she haven't found what she was looking for. She pushed forward, probably to some more abandoned and lost place. Every place before the Dead Trenches is sort of safe to trespass through if you mind where you step, so if it was around here, Branka would have been back by now. She nearly a full House of people with her! It seems like a logical conclusion that she headed somewhere beyond Bownammar.”

“Fun thing you say that,” Oghren muttered, “because that's exactly what the journal here says. Although she made some sketches of maps with good guesses where the Anvil could be. I suppose she made real maps which she took with herself, though. We'll have to do with this.”

Loghain took the journal and stared at the wobbly sketches on the pages. Then he looked at the crumpled maps behind his belt. Then he groaned: “Whenever I think the cartography couldn't sink any lower, a Paragon herself shows up with a shovel.”

“Once we are in the Dead Trenches, we can ask Kardol for some kind of directions.”

“Duran, who is Kardol?” Alistair asked. “Is that anyone that we should know?”

“Oh, he is the commander of the Legion of the Dead. Leliana, could you, I don't know, stop looking at me like that?”

This obviously resulted in Oghren and I having to explain what the Legion of the Dead was, why Bownammar was so important hold in the dwarven history, and that while the Legion was technically always hiring that we thought Sten should just stay with us. But at least we managed to get moving at that.

_Push to keep the dark from coming..._

My guess was that it took us another two days to reach the Dead Trenches. We stopped five times to camp, but that didn't line up with the time we had spent down there. Simply as we progressed, we were becoming more and more exhausted; the fights were more demanding, the caves were hotter, we had to rely more and more on whatever we found in the caverns rather than out supplies, and – a problem that Alistair trained among the templars identified – the lyrium veins which were becoming more and more ample and plentiful were interfering with everyone who was not dwarf. Even though we camped only in caves where the veins weren't protruding from the stone, which in itself meant that it often took us hours to find a good camping site, my companions often spoke and even walked in their sleep, and were understandable exhausted upon waking.

“Remember,” Alistair warned, “if you hear singing, then the lyrium is staring to make you mad. We should be able to endure something, but we won't last in here forever.”

“I hear singing,” Sten said.

My senior Warden dismissed it: “That's Duran. That doesn't count.”

But I was quite certain that We All Lift Together rhythmically matches the clinking and ringing of the lyrium as I could hear it. I had that song stuck in my head the whole time we were here and there was nothing much I could do bout it.

_Cold the air and water flowing,_

_hard the land we call our home._

After what felt like six kilometres – which I think would translate into an hour, but we might have slowed down over the time - we came to a loud and wide ravine in the ground.

“More darkspawn- down!” Alistair commanded us with a hiss. We fell flat on the floor, even Wilde.

Before us from the ravine towards the distant ceiling of the underground cavern lost under clouds of smoke and haze of lyrium rose... A very shapely shape. It nyoomed around and encircled the large cavern before it perched on a vista looming high above.

It stopped there, so I could see the spindly spiky shape of it. It spread it's large bat-like wings which by my guess of someone who vaguely knew how physics work shouldn't had been able to carry it as gracefully as they just had.

Once it had been a beautiful beast. Before the darkspawn corruption happened. It had the elegance of a knife which rusted, the grandeur of an opulent baroque organs completely eaten through by woodworm, the beauty of richly hybrid tea roses devoured to the root by aphides. The magnificence of an Old God touched by the darkspawn.

I knew that the name of this Old God started with an U, but after that there were just too many letters. Given that it was a high dragon once, I supposed that it was a female. But at this stage... did it really matter? Was it anything more than a vicious shell which was to spread malice

It was looking directly at us. It turned its head left and right, it's long neck constantly moving. In that moment I saw our group through its eyes, something that hurt me so much I flinched. Because I could see Alistair and he fell straight on his butt, I knew he could see like that too. But it was gone in an instance and left behind only the feeling of dry amusement out of a joke directed at us.

And then with a flap of wings it was gone.

“I really, really hope,” Alistair started, his voice strained and breath lacking, “that that was the Archdemon.”

Loghain growled: “Why hope for that?”

“Because otherwise we have on our hands a huge fucking corrupted dragon and the Archdemon. So I really hope it's alone. Duran? Duran, where are you?”

I only somewhat waved at Alistair. I couldn't really answer, as I was too busy throwing up whatever that black sludge was, with the addition of partially digested badly roasted deep stalker and boiled deep mushrooms. I wanted to pin it on the Archdemon's interference with my head, but in truth this wasn't the first time I threw up after eating mushrooms down here, so...

“Ew.”

“Go ‘ew’ yourself,” I wheezed at Leliana.

We proceeded through the smoke-filled cavern until we could see a bridge. _Where is Kardol?_ Where was my favourite dwarf? Or second favourite, because my feelings regarding Varric had been and still are kind of unclear to me, but Varric was far away from here both geographically and chronologically.

Oh, there he was, in the middle of the bridge with some more Legionnaires, trying to stop the darkspawn from advancing. They were slowly losing ground. There was a small group of darkspawn, genlocks mostly and some hurlocks with two ogres at the front who slipped past the Legion of the Dead and were headed our way. Leliana drew her bow.

Schlud! Correction, only one ogre now. Schlud! Correction, now headed our way no longer. Schlud, crack. Rain of glass and living frost some thirty meters away from us decorated the floor and whatever got in the way. Correction, no darkspawn group.

I put my hand with the other flask of frost down, and smiled at Leliana: “Nice aim. You're not easy on the eyes, are you?”

She didn't even turned around to look at me. “Less flirting, more of those bombs of yours over there, yes?”

Easy for Leliana to say. Archery is a work of precision. My technique of throwing flasks and combat bombs was built about causing as much damage in area as large as far away from me as possible. Where the scythe hit the rock here where in the area of effect stood someone I did not want to hit. For example I was pretty certain that I do not want to cover Wilde's hide with the solution of lyrium dust on formic acid. Formic acid on it's own isn't any drastic stuff, but the addition of finely powdered lyrium had the effect as if ants were eating you alive. It left behind stone, metal and somewhat jiggly jellied bones. _Do not apply to dogs or your loved ones._

As such I turned around in search for an easier target the dissolving of which wouldn't put my group in danger of being turned into armoured jelly. Which is why I couldn't say that I didn't even know what hit me, because I saw it: It was a trio of genlocks. The blow to head came so quickly that I only yelped and then snuffed out like a candle.

I woke up with a raging headache and a patch of beard glued to my neck with dried blood. I was aching like mother of all sin, so I supposed I was out and laying on the stone floor for solid time.

“Finally.” A woman-sounding voice to my left which I didn't recognize. Not at first, though. As I turned my head around, I found her: A dwarf lady in an once-fancy plate armour, brown hair, sunken eyes with an uncanny twinkle. She smiled a lot, a very strained smile which was for some reason wrong. The amount and shape of teeth was correct, which was my first concern.

“You are... Branka, right?” I slowly managed to stood up. My head was slightly spinning and I felt kind of weak. I suspected serious blood loss. Against my expectations I wasn't tied up, only watched from the sidelines by a lot of darkspawn. I didn't have to be a Grey Warden to know about them, they weren't breathing exactly quietly.

She started kicking her legs which were dangling from the ledge on which she was sitting. She was bored. “See, I thought you were the clever one.”

The pinch of flattery made me blush and quiver. But I knew that she didn't mean it as a good thing. In fact I was absolutely certain that being “the clever one” just landed me in a bunch of trouble. I looked around the cavern again and noticed my backpack by a wall made out of slightly corroded but still thick metal plates. And that was pretty much it. Obviously I had to question the absence of the rest of my company.

“Useless dolts and drunkards,” was the dry answer. “You work for me now. For your Paragon. Now look ahead: We are so close to the Anvil of the Void! Can't you taste it in the air? I can. The only obstacle between it and I is Caridin's gauntlet, full of traps. And you are going to get through it for me.”

“If you are the genius Paragon Branka,” I started carefully, “why can't you deactivate them yourself? You don't need me for that.” I knew it wasn't going to help. But I wanted to know.

“My life is too precious to waste, and my mind too removed from the worldly problems to focus on some measly traps. You are replaceable. And if you don't get to it right now, I'll let Laryn's bastards to tear you apart.”

Threats of violence and death are very effective, especially if they are accompanied by the growling of a band of genlocks. Besides, I knew the traps. Or rather “traps” really. There were two actual traps. And the gas chamber. That I was not looking forward to. And nevermind all the golems. Hmm. Golems...

I picked up my backpack, because it was all my worldly possession and if I was to go off the face of this world, I would go with a large ka-boom. I turned to Branka: “Very well, my venerated Paragon. That's logic I can't really argue with. But... you wouldn't happen to have a golem control rod which I could borrow for this task?”

Branka barked out a laugh and her eyes narrowed. She jumped off the ledge and did the superhero landing in front of me. It had to be hard on her knees, especially in the plate. This close I could see some of her veins being highlighted by black. Taint.

I supposed it made sense. She had been down here for two years; what did she and the whole House Branka eat during that time? They didn't start a deep mushroom farm, that was for sure. It shouldn't had taken me by surprise that she became a bit ghoulish herself.

And probably lyrium, too. Dwarven immunity against it goes only skin deep. With so many wains protruding from the cavern walls and ceiling, there had to be dust in the air. Probably not enough to cause anything serious if you exposed an open wound to it, but Branka had been breathing it for two years now, hadn't she?

When she spoke, I could smell the putrid breath which gave away that she hadn't packed a toothrbush with herself along with a common sense: “What would it be to you for?”

“It's Caridin's design right next to the Anvil of the Void, right?” How far gone was she even? “There is a high probability that there are going to be golems. And better the golem you command.”

She pulled out a carved stick of stone. I hoped it was a control rod. Learning how it worked would be far easier if the runes there were anything more than pretty carvings to me.

Right. _Into the gauntlet I go._ I had to try not to die. Sten would be very disappointed in me if I did. And I would be dead, which would be really inconvenient for my plan to find out if Thedas knows hookahs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*chuckles*_ I am in danger.


	10. The Chapter in which the Maharal of Prague Would Not Be Proud (I Think)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I become Branka's assistant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> [Beatup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nI-8HTHtLs) (Branka/Anvil of the Void)  
> [ We All Lift Together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d1MwAvuiyVA) (We All Lift Together)

It turned out that there were only three Caridin's traps in the gauntlet, and not four. The huge waves of darkspawn that take forever and aren't that a difficult fight with a competent party? That had always been just Branka having a bad day. My point was that I tried not to look surprised when the narrow tunnel was empty.

In front of me now was the door to the gas chamber. I had always thought that it was in poor taste from BioWare to put golems in a gas chamber. No doubts that they did many more things in poor taste too, but this one I noticed. Well, Caridin didn't have my earthly context, so... Let's just move on.

When I unsealed the door and entered the room I was hit by a familiar smell. Like a swimming pool. Chlorine. The gas here was chlorine. I had to think fast. There was no way I could seal the valves without getting attacked by the golems, and no chance of me taking control of the golems and commanding them to seal the valves quickly enough that I wouldn't breathe the noxious fumes which would eat me from the inside out.

In theory I could make spray it with water and it'd go down, which would most likely give me a big enough window to take charge of the golems and close the valves... if I had enough water. I had one and half waterskin. Not nearly enough. I could try to neuter the chlorine with ammonia, because we all carry our own ammonia around, but I doubted I could piss out enough to take care of the whole room. Not enough liquids.

However... My frost-shock bombs were water based and drew in air humidity. And the one stink bomb, which I had made just to see if I could and then didn't have the heart to just throw it out, was made out of practically baking soda and ammonium.

The only way was forward. There was a way back, too, but it had Branka on it, so it didn't count. I had to make my way to the Anvil. And then back to my friends. And then figure out what next, but I'd do that once there wasn't a maniacal dwarf driven crazy my her environment and obsession right behind me. My best chance right now were the two flasks which I threw into the room.

The chamber shook and a solid layer of dust rained upon me and everywhere. For a moment the chlorine gas was gone, only the hoarfrost in the middle of the chamber had an uncannily green-yellow colour. And the room stank. I hurried to the first valve as I noticed more chlorine pouring out of it and pooling on the ground.

The wheel was old and rusty and I didn't manage to turn it as much by my strength as by my weight. The golem guarding it predictably woke up, but it found itself frozen and unable to move beyond glaring at me. I breathed out in relief, my breath instantly turning into a frozen cloud, and hurried to close the remaining valves.

The door on the other side opened once no more chlorine could enter the room. I left in a hurry, leaving four thawing golems for Branka to deal with. So right next was the blade trap room. It turned to be far easier than the gas chamber for the simple reason that I knew where the traps were, so I just avoided them. I would have disarmed them if I knew how to. And I had the control rod, which meant that by the time I made it to the door.

By the time I reached the Soul Apparatus, I was feeling pretty confident that this might just work. I was clever. I was clever enough to make up for four people, and had four golems to make up for the strength and brute force I was lacking.

As I was waiting for the golems to finish pummelling the spirits and anvils protecting the Apparatus, Branka caught up with me. I knew, because she said: “What happened in the first room? Smelled like a bronto shat all over the place.”

“Kind of,” I said reluctantly. Remind me to never get to a bronto close. “It was some simple alchemy delivered in large scale.”

“Hmh. Alchemy. Alchemists think they are all important, but they ain't a shit.”

“Actually,” I hummed, “everything is alchemy. Except physics. And probably some parts of magic.”

“I didn't ask you to prove my point.” Wow, madam, way to spoil the mood. “So, Endrin junior, what's this thing?”

“I'm calling it the Soul Apparatus. It keeps the door over there locked. You have to smash the anvil in front of the head three times to shut it down, and once all four are shut, the door should open. Of course, the heads aren't making it easy and they rotate – like now, you seeing that? – and kind of try to kill you.”

Branka didn't seem interested, though. She was looking in the right direction, but only because she was ogling the golems. She was even muttering and after a moment she probably forgot I was there, because she went on a full quiet rant about how beautiful and strong and chiseled they were. _Kinky_.

When the door creaked open and the four golems regrouped around us, it came as a welcomed rescue. Branka was driving me crazy. We stepped through to the other side.

The song of lyrium was extremely loud here. The Anvil of the Void on the far end of the cavern was practically screaming, wreaking my ears and nerves. I noticed that I began bleeding from the nose.

The large golems all around and Caridin's extra creepy suit were the last things that I noticed, because I had to keep all my wits about me not to just flop down on the ground and start wailing and whining. Being here... it just hurt. I caught a thought that told me: _That is because it is not your Stone sense._ You didn't know how to listen to it. It wasn't a very helpful thought, though.

Then Caridin moved and easily blocked the way to the Anvil with his massive body. His voice boomed like he was Darth Vader: “My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar.”

“Hehe. Darth Caridin.” That was me, wan't it? My voice sounded so far away. And meek.

“If you seek the Anvil,” he continued as if I didn't say anything, “then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it.”

Branka seemed to consider it. Finally she proclaimed: “Out of my way, you oaf! Already I have realised what all mistakes you made. I am not weak like you. I shall not repeat them. There are sacrifices to be made. You know nothing of what it cost me to get here, I will not turn away for your self-loathing and whining!”

“You do not know the cost of-”

“Bah,” Branka scoffed. “The cost is a life. What else could it be? You cannot make something almost living from an unliving matter. You need a dwarf inside of those golems. Or what, do you just wear these enhancers because you're compensating ineptness in the sheets? I said: Out of my way!”

She moved past Caridin and to the Anvil. Caridin, as was his usual, called the golems to aid. I considered getting out of the way, but before I could move Paragon Branka yanked the control rod out of my hand, took control of two more golems, and let the half-artificial warriors war against each other. Caridin fell to his knees, refusing to obey the control rod, but unable to keep moving.

Not that Branka cared for him or for the very epic stone-throwing battle behind us. She practically dragged me to the Anvil of the Void.

“Do you see it? Can you hear it sing? Bask in its glory! Caridin was a true genius... Shame he turned out to be a weak idiot.”

“Nghk,” I managed. Branka almost had to carry me, because my legs just refused to be of any use. My head pounded, by nose bled, my ears felt like they were about to burst.

“Sit here,” Branka commanded. “don't move, don't go anywhere.”

Yes, I could do that. I could even took my backpack off even. I stared at the ground on the fine veins of lyrium which were joining together and going past me to the Anvil of the Void. Kind of like roots.

“Branka,” I whispered.

“What?”

“This isn't going... it won't work.”

“Of course it will work. It is the Anvil of the Void! I gave my life to it! This is but a final step. No, no. It is the first step, first on the path to greatness! Our empire will no longer be crumbling tunnels, no fear-ridden Houses waiting for the next darkspawn to finally swallow it whole, no abandoned thaigs. We are dwarves! And we will be dwarves.”

“No, no.” I wasn't an idiot, even though my head hurt. “I am... I'm not a dwarf. This will not work”

“The Shaperate might say so. I doubt the Anvil will know the difference if it cares for it at all.”

That was all the confirmation I needed. I just... I just hoped I wouldn't make it this far. That I would be able to talk her out of it. That Caridin would stop her. That Alistair and the others would catch up before it could come to this. But no.

“Hmm... I will need a fitting armour. Very well, there is enough metal around here. Veridium, almost pure. Look at the beauty. You will be gleaming!” Branka shove a greenish-gold ingot under my nose. A few blood drops fell on it.

“Please, don't do this. I don't want to.”

“Stop whining.” I got lightly patted on the head. It hurt a lot, because it was also where I got maced not that long ago. I still had to get all that blood out of my beard and hair. Except if Branka was to see this to the end, I wouldn't have any beard or hair to speak of anymore. I liked my beard.

But I stopped whining and waited. It didn't feel like I could move anyway. Not with the Anvil practically screaming me paralysed. Never before did I feel so helpless. There were a few times when I got into a fight with classmates at elementary school, and because they were usually stronger than I, they quite easily pacified me, but I always could move or curse, I could bite them and call them stupid bastards who couldn't do their math homework without my help. This was like trying to swim against a current, but the current was static.

Above me on the anvil Branka was hammering what I was assuming a massive armour into shape. Each hit made the metal resonate and the ground shook and I shook with it, slumped against the base of the Anvil. In front of me I saw Caridin, still unmoving and sparks of electricity dancing across his armour. He probably felt something similar as I did.

The golems have stopped fighting. It was because there were only last two standing, and they were the ones I brought from the blade room. Now they were standing one each by the side of the door at ease. Almost as if they were sleeping. Did they have thoughts? Did they think of anything? Shale could. Shayle Cadash... But she was a special case, wasn't she?

I had absolutely no idea how long this lasted, but enough to get thirsty and be unable to do anything with it. Even though the headache the Anvil caused me faded into the background, it didn't go away or diminish. I was still of as much use as a a slice of soggy bread. Except I could talk. I didn't talk, but I started humming, because it was something to do. I had to stop it eventually, though, because it began to be too painful for my nose, with all the bubbling blood and all.

Branka had to finish somewhen after I had fallen silent. I know I didn't fall asleep, but I lost track of time and was quite groggy as if I had been drinking. “Get up, assistant.”

I couldn't, though, so she had to pull me up, heave me on the top of the Anvil of the Void and into the armour. She began closing it around me from my feet to my legs. It included hammering it together. I was afraid she would hit me, but she didn't. Branka was a very good smith. I practically didn't feel the hammer touching the armour at all.

“See? Isn't that much better?” Branka said. I couldn't see shit except two thin stripes of the ceiling since I had my field of vision severely limited by the helmet, but I wasn't able to say that. I was busy trying not to panic and keep breathing. It was pretty much the last breathing I would ever do. I was determined to get the most out of it while I could.

Even though I couldn't see her, I was certain that Branka had a victorious and uncanny smile as she proclaimed: “Soon you'll be a complete golem. Strong. Unbeatable. First of my creation. You should feel honoured.”

A bit, yeah. I did feel a little bit honoured. And a great deal terrified.

Suddenly searing pain hit me in my left ankle and I yelped. Like being scalded with hot water, but much much worse and hotter. What was that? It stopped hurting fairly quickly, but only because I lost the feeling in my whole damn foot, which was perhaps even scarier.

“Stop twitching,” Branka scolded me. “I don't have a drop of lyrium to waste. I need absolute precision. Hold still!”

OBEY.

My feet stopped twitching. I wasn't entirely sure how I knew it, since I didn't feel it anymore, but I knew.

Branka continued pouring the hot molten lyrium through the holes in my armour. I am pretty certain I screamed my lungs out. My certain comes from the fact that the liquid magic fire made its way into my mouth, which was the moment when things turned very dark blue. By the way, in case you wonder what molten lyrium tastes like, it has the taste of a burning tongue.

My head was full of lyrium. It stopped screaming now. Instead it wrapped me in itself like a blanket, a promise of eternity. A soothing tingling at the front of my mind. And there was another sound... like drums. Or a distant bass.

YOU WILL BE GUIDED. OBEY.

“Stand up,” Branka barked. My body moved on its own, I didn't need to ask it to. My movements were effortless. My strength was nigh infinite. “Come to me.”

Come to me. Not to Branka. Further.

OBEY.

I am coming to neither of you.

“Branka!” That sounded like Oghren. “There you are! We found you. We- Branka?”

What was unmistakably Loghain's voice pointed out: “That is Duran's bag.”

“KILL THEM,” Branka commanded.

_Cold the air and water flowing,  
hard the land we call our home._

Come to Me.

_Push to keep-_

Follow me!

_-the dark from coming-_

You have Joined Me. You belong to Me. You are Me. To the End!

“Is it supposed to change he colours like that?” Leliana? Was it Leliana?

“I said kill them!”

_Making peace to build our future  
strong, united, working 'till we fall._

KILL THEM.

I moved. I walked. I had to force every step. The armour was damn heavy.

Yes! Come to Me!

OBEY. KILL. FIGHT.

_And we all lift,  
and we're all adrift together._

Alistair: “Down!”

_Together!_

And then the bubbling anger at my helplessness overboiled out of the pot. I would love to say what happened next, but I have no idea. Everything went black and finally, finally, blissfully silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I did figure out how to kinda work with workskins because specifically of this chapter. So what?


	11. Morning, Morning, Morning!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wake up.

For what I assume are obvious reasons I have the next memories sort of jagged, blurry and exceptionally fragmented. I remember an instance when someone was trying to make me drink water and I nearly drowned on a mouthful. I remember talking voices, but not what the words were. Bright light changing for nigh complete darkness.

I remember singing. I think it was mostly Leliana, but it is quite possible others stepped in from time to time to add their voice. One of those voices was mine, but maybe I was thinking really loudly. I remember having my face very thoroughly licked. I hope that was Wilde.

Mostly I remember the pain. It felt liquid. Most of the time is was pooled at the back of my head, because most of the time I was laying on my back, usually on something hard. Sometimes I was moved and the pain splashed out and made its way to my teeth or fingers or chest. The chest pains were the worst ones, I couldn't properly curl around it.

The next time that I woke up, I was in a bed. It wasn't a soft bed, but after a week of wrestling Alistair – and consequently loosing to him – for the spots of softer granite, the mattress well like feather down to me.

I opened my eyes and immediately regretted that idea, because the well lit room seared itself into my retinas and my headache spiked up.

“Fourth time is the charm? Good morning big brother.” It came from my left, somewhere above my shoulder.

“Hi, Bhelen,” I breathed out. I didn't turn my head around to look at him. I didn't want my head to get any worse.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was full of concern.

I searched for a fitting description for a moment and then settled for: “Like a thrice used toilet paper. With a hangover.”

“For someone who is supposed to be extremely dead, I'd say that is exceeding all and any expectations.” Bhelen chuckled and added: “But either way, I don't envy you that. You pick your companions well, though. They were very convinced you'd wake up soon when even Caridin gave up on you.”

I decided to prove that I am far better than dead, and so I mobilised all my strength – that was all two of them – and clawed and pulled myself to sit upfront. I felt a little better for it mentally, even though physically not so much. “Caridin?”

Bhelen looked thoughtful for a moment and then put his pen aside. A fountain pen, I noted. Not a quill, an actual pen. I needed to get my hands on one of those, because if I had to mark down yet another thing with a bloody feather, I was going to lose my mind. And I have always loved fountain pens.

“Alright, before I start... how much do you remember of what happened at the Anvil?”

This didn't seem like a good moment to mention the voices to Bhelen. Or to anyone for that matter. I chose my answer carefully: “I got to be made a golem – unwillingly mind you – and didn't like it one bit. When the rest of my group caught up with us, Branka ordered me to kill them and... I didn't do it. I didn't do it, right?”

“No one told me that there were any losses on your side, so probably not. And after that? I specifically want to know what happened after that.”

 _What a relief!_ “I... got really worked up about people trying to command me around, so I... Hm. I did something. No idea what it was, and it was probably a violent accident.”

“Well, you exploded the golem shell and the unhardened lyrium around you. And also the Anvil of the Void. And Caridin's golem shell. Actually, the ceiling there apparently collapsed in pieces. As far as I know, Paragon Branka didn't make it out... which from what I have heard might have been for better.” Bhelen gave me a look, then set his papers aside and just laid me back down onto the pillow. It didn't seem wise to protest.

I asked: “What... what happened to Caridin?”

“Well, he is still this very creepy blueish black, but the beard is starting to grow back slowly. He guesses he has some ten or so years of life ahead of himself. His return to Orzammar is quite the sensation among the people. It allows me to rule in peace.”

“So you are the King of Orzammar now?”

He responded with a nod. “I admit I was hoping it would come with a fancy crown or something, but no such luck. All I got was a Paragon's approval. Oh, by the way, the Assembly voted on reinstituing you back into our House and make you the Prince again. Only three votes against. As far as I know, no bribes or blackmail took place.”

I chuckled: “That won't hold me long. We have to... return back to the surface. Get the rest of the allies.”

His face fade into a serious one: “Duran, you don't have time for that. I mean you, specifically.”

I gave him only a blank stare as a reply, and so he added: “There is lyrium, straight in your head. It's burning you alive. You don't have the time to go topside. You need to stay home so we you can return to the Stone.”

“Bhelen... I am a Grey Warden now. I can't shrink my duty.”

“You have two months of life at best. Your friends wouldn't tell you, I am sure, but you need to know,” Bhelen hissed urgently. He seemed... actually a bit devastated by the news. “Look at it- Look at yourself- Just... try to see my point of view, alright? I've just got back my brother, you know – the one who was a decent person, the one who didn't treat me like a complete dust-rug – and I've learned that despite everything he's still standing beside me and with me, and that he isn't going to stay with me for long. If you leave- if you leave now, I am never going to see you again. I know, yes, that letting you accompany Alistair is the right thing, that you are fighting the important fight for the whole world, I realise all of that. But I'll never get to see you again. Your friends will have to bury you by the roadside when the lyrium eats you alive. Maybe someone will find it in themselves to put you out of the misery when it turns your brain into nug-cheese. Probably the Quinary one, but I bet the flamehaired lady will insist of dragging your more corpse than a body foaming at the mouth and wailing in agony along with them.”

“So you would rather watch all of that unable to do anything about it?”

Bhelen opened and closed his mouth a few times like a carp out of water. Finally he managed to blurt out: “Fair point.”

I smiled. “Be a good king, little brother. Or I'll come each night to you as a ghost and drip ghostly goo on your beard and it will be sticky.”

“Ew,” Bhelen made a disgusted face, “first time you ever call me a ‘little brother’ and you have to put such a thing right next to that?”

“My humble apologies. Trian was always the softie, not me.” I wasn't entirely sure why I said that, but Bhelen began laughing. His laugh was contagious, so I joined him, even though it made the pain in my head spike and the one in my chest alike.

When we finally ran out of breath and additional chuckles and Bhelen wiped the tears off of his face, he said: “Thank you, Duran. For this. I have to go now, I can't keep Lady Ortan waiting for longer. “

“Lady Ortan? So I suppose someone delivered the papers to the Shaperate, huh?” Nailed that! I was very pleased with myself in that moment. And It wasn't that guilty pleasure like when Branka called me clever.

“You did a lot for Orzammar. She is proud of you.” And with that Bhelen really left me alone with the room and my thoughts.

So... two months, huh? _And the last week probably isn't going to be worth a stale slipper_. I didn't have the time to wait until I recover, then. I had a whole plot to fix or at least move along. Two months. It seemed too long and too little at the same time. Two months are a very abstract time, especially for someone like me who has troubles comprehending things like a tomorrow, and isn't faring much better with a yesterday. Next year is practically nonexistent time.

Nevertheless, I was aware that I had no time to waste. While Bhelen tucked me in nicely, I practically rolled out of the bed. I had some light clothes on, but I didn't recognise it as either Duran's chain mail, nor as his ragged prison outfit with which he fought his way to freedom, probably. No shoes or socks. The floor was cold.

I half crawled and half sluggishly walked towards the door. My head spun like a carousel, but I sincerely did not ask for its opinion, so I continued out. I was greeted with the staircase of the Grey Warden Embassy. It looked like it was three stories of it to get down to the ground floor.

When I was a kid, I loved to slide stairs down on my but. At home I'd do it over and over and over until I could barely walk. I was not up to this now, though. I was older and my head hurt. But it was a plan B if plan A failed. Plan A was to cling to the railing and carefully slide down along it like a sweater.

After a very long time – it felt like three forevers – I finally landed in the entrance hall with the realisation that I was positively starving. I took slow and hesitant and somewhat shaky steps towards the kitchen. To my surprise I smelled... well, maybe not food, but certainly warmed up ingredients. That was greatly promising, because perhaps I didn't have to cook by myself.

To my great relief it was Leliana who was cooking with the help of Sten, because Sten was the best chopper of onions and meats, and whatever Leliana was cooking it involved a lot of meat an onion. The rest of the group was there sitting around the table trying not to listen to Oghren's tale of this-and-that Proving he gloriously and honourably won.

Two faces turned to me: Alistair and Wilde's. The both seemed very happy to see me, but Alistair didn't trot over to nuzzle me and try to coax some treats out of me. Not that I had any, but Wilde stopped trying to poke his nose into my pockets only once Loghain waved at him with a Mabari crunch.

“I have this theory,” I said, because my brain-to-mouth filter refused to to boot up and work, “that you have a little tear to the Fade in your pocket, and that in the Fade you have an island made out of these... uh... dog cookies.”

A chair was pulled out for me at the table and I slid on it. I didn't even mind I was right next to Oghren. Loghain let go off the backrest and said: “That would finally be a good use of magic, I give you that much credit. But alas, no.”

“So,” Leliana started carefully, “are you alright?”

I forced myself to sound cheerful: “No. My life expectancy has once again shrunk. It just proves that I shouldn't drink everything that flows.”

Alistair frowned at me from across the table. Oh right, the Joining is a secret and so are its consequences. _Whoops?_ No wait, since all the faces around the table were a bit concerned, maybe it was the first part what got to him.

Oghren cleared his throat and started: “Alistair told me that our next stop it the Magi tower, and those guys know all about lyrium, right? I think it's not a sodden far fetched hope that they might be able to do something about you.”

“Unless the Templars try to eat you first. What, Your Lordship, what's with that look? I have seen what a lyrium withdrawal looks like. I saw the Knight-Liteunant in charge of my training eat his own enchanted sword.” Alistair shudders. “Had to get him to the infirmary with his mouth bleeding. Not nice, ruined my tunic. It got me into problems.”  
Sten gave me a considering look and then said: “He will need a good helmet. Quinari teeth can bite through metal if given enough time. Templars might be worse. From what I have seen in Lothering at least.”

Then Sten did something what made me love him with all my heart: He gave the biggest bowl of onion soup I ever had. I stuffed myself so full that I was practically spherical. Our resident Quinari and Leliana looked very proud. The world was a little better place now that I didn't have to face it with empty stomach. After the dinner we agreed that we should embark on the road the next morning. I was especially pressing it, because I felt the time ticking. It felt mostly like a headache.

However, when we wanted to leave the next morning, we were stopped by the Royal Guard: King Bhelen had very generously offered to us to equip ourselves from the royal armoury, and it would have been extremely rude of us not to accept his hospitality.

And honestly? I was extremely thankful. Duran's scavenger garb didn't exactly survive contact with the molten lyrium, and the little what had made it out of the Deep Roads was thrown into lava per Alistair's command and Caridin's suggestion. As I came to understand it, I was lucky not to be thrown with it and was spared out of emotional attachements and because Wilde seemed keen on biting off the fingers of anyone who laid a hand on me and agreed with that idea. Not that it was anyone besides Caridin, but still.

I was very kindly pointed towards a dwarven set of armour which seemed custom made and extra fancy. As it turned out, it was exactly the case, and it fit me well. My guess was that it had at one point been Duran's armour and that it was put here when he got exiled.

The rest of the group was more focused on finding good weapons with the exception of Sten and Loghain. Sten had Asala, Loghain had very little patience. As he had put it: “I have everything that I need already, and I carry it with the intent of bring it back home once this escapade of yours is over. Dwarven work might be superior to what I have, but I am not attached to it.” As he was wearing the light leather armour and not the atrocity pauldrons of River Dane, I did not recommend him to reconsider it.

“So,” I asked as we headed for the surface, “why did my armour have to be thrown out?”

“The lyrium on it was... suspicious,” Leliana started carefully. “It turned red.”

“I could see how that was a problem,” I nodded.

It only hit me when everyone stared at me that maybe I said something that was a huge story spoiler. Luckily we approached the Orzammar gate and I put it upon myself to calm Oghren down and assure him he would not fall into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, drama over. Let's be silly for a while again.


	12. The Crack in the Plan (Where By “Plan” I Mean “Head”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random encounters on the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today I've learned that the merchant isn't named Bohdan. I feel robbed.

We weren't expecting any troubles on the road to the Calenhad docks. That was a mistake. One that we would have easily avoided if we were willing to take a lesson then. The truth is that we grew too confident, come to think of it now, and perhaps too careless in my case.

However, two random encounters over nine days of travel seemed fair to me, as far as the quantity went. Regarding the quality, I'd like a refund.

The first was us stumbling upon a bandit ambush in progress. There were as many of them as us, but before we could deliver any justice and violence, somebody pointed out the size of Sten and Asala, and the highwaymen scattered. Leliana and Loghain each shot, but the bastards scattered among the trees too quickly for anyone to land any serious damage. I was sort of grateful for that. My head had felt the whole day as if it was going to split if I moved it too quickly.

“Mighty timely arrival, my friends. I'm much obliged,” said a familiar voice of a dwarf crawling from under the cart the bandits had been robbing mere moments prior.

“You're welcome,” Alistair nodded and after concluding the fight was over he sheathed his still clean sword.

Bodahn said: “The name is Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. And this,” he waved his hand in my direction, “is my son Sandal. Say hello, my boy.”

“Hello,” said Sandal directly behind me.

I very slowly turned around, because how did he get behind me? Creepy! But there I was, face to milky face to Sandal Feddic whose big but certainly not innocent eyes we looking more through me than at me.

“Mind if I ask what brings the great Teyrn Loghain, a Grey Warden, a strapping Quinari, a beautiful young lady, and two stout strong fellows out here? Perhaps we're going the same way,” Bodahn said with a smile of a skilled businessman who added two and two and came out with profit.

The reactions from our group were mixed: from Sten's glaring to Alistair's embarrassment. Loghain tried and failed not to roll his eyes and ended up saying: “Somewhat of a state secret.”

“Secrets, eh?” Bodahn rubbed his beard and smiled. He looked like a happy baked apple. “I love secrets. Keep yours. I have many for sale if you'd like some more. Ah well, let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?”

It was addressed to Sandal who still was blankly staring in my general direction. I took a step back without tripping over a broken crate out of which clothes spilled.

“Sandal?” Bodahn demanded. No reaction.

I made another couple of steps to side, and much to my horror the boy followed me with his gaze. Then he smiled and clapped his hands: “You're singing.”

“Uh. Alright?” I tried to back away. I was very sure I was not singing.

“Enchantment?” Sandal asked me. That way when you were really sad that you didn't bring any grandmaster runes, because you hated to tell him you don't want any enchantment done.

Bodahn started: “My boy, you know I love your enthusiasm and initiative in the market. You see,” he turned toward Loghain whom he correctly identified as the leader of our merry band of misfits, “ the boy is a bit simple, but he's rather good with enchantments. One of those Tranquil fellows actually called him a... what was it now?”

“Retarded?” Sten offered.

The merchant shook his head: “No, no, kind of a slithery word. A savant? I had no idea such a thing existed.”

Sandal wandered off to one of the broken crates and started rummaging in its spilled battered contents. While he was at it, he started saying: “The Astral Dominae was first of the three to be found. Hidden on a remote world-”

“Sandal,” I interrupted him quickly before he could continue, “we know what a savant is.” I had to admit that I was more than mildly concerned. Granted, I couldn't think the word “savant” without recalling the Dark Savant, but that was a completely different game, and nobody was supposed to dig into my head like this.

Feddic Jr. probably didn't realise he had said anything, because he victoriously grabbed something and came back to me. “Enchantment!” he beamed. He looked at me rather expectantly.

Leliana looked at Bodahn: “What is your son up to?”

Wilde nudged Sandal with his nose. He seemed friendly, so I didn't think the youngling dwarf had any bad intentions. It all would have been easier if I knew what was that rune he was showing me, though.

“Well,” Bodahn started with caution, “it looks like he wants to enchant your friend there. Which is ridiculous. Living beings can't be enchanted, isn't that right boy?”

“Singing,” Sandal replied with a smile which made his chubby cheeks look even rounder, fat and tender, inviting for teeth to sink in.; “Drums,” he corrected himself quickly, with a little frown. “Enchantment?”

“If the boy does any harm, I will not bear in mind he is a child-”

“I think it's alright, Loghain,” I said. Finally it dawned on me what the boy wanted to do: help. He wanted to help me. But he could have done it in a less creepy manner, was all I was saying.

I sat down and took my leather cap off. “Alright, Sandal. I would like some enchantment done.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal clapped his hands. Whatever he did to my head, I didn't see it, because he was standing behind me.

It felt like a nice head rub, though. It gave be goosebumps and it tickled a bit, but it was nice. And most important of all – it made my splitting headache go away. However, our group was intently watching Sandal work. That was until Alistair grew probably bored and sat down with his lunch. Considered the rest followed the suit and none of them made a gagging sound, not even once, I concluded that whatever was happening, it was fine.

Then the boy said: “Done.”  
“Thank you.” I turned around just in time to see him looking at something red and liquidy but sticky all over his hands. It was too bright to be blood, though. Then much to my horror he stuffed his hands into is mouth and whatever it was, he licked it off.

“That,” Oghren commented, “was gross.” Bodahn shot him a look, and Oghren responded with a belch that made me wince.

Needless to say that we moved on our separate ways after that. Bodahn and us, I meant. Not me and Oghren. Oghren stayed with us for long time. Which was the reason I had to tent up with Alistair once again. Sharing a tent with Alistair is usually not a problem.

That is a lazy way to say that that night there was a teeny tiny itty bitty problem. Namely it was Alistair's decision to say: “Your head is glowing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The back of your head,” he clarified. “It is glowing this kind of cold blue. Haven't you noticed?”

“I often stare at the back of my head, so yes, it's been doing the whole time. What do you mean ‘glowing’? Heads don't glow. You didn't complain about that before. Is it something that Sandal did?”

Alistair offered to take a look and I let him. Whom could you trust about a rune slapped to your lyrium bubbling head if not a guy trained among the Templars who just hadn't taken any vows? A random creepy child with very vaguely hinted ominous backstory, maybe.

Alistair hummed as he was inspecting my head and then whispered: “Oh shit.”

“What's going on?”

“Well,” he started slowly, “it looks like a crack. It's pretty big, actually. It ends behind your left ear and stops in the middle of your head. The hair covers it mostly. I wonder what if I-”

A wave of pain rolled over me, going from my head into my teeth, then chest, and finally it made its way into my toes and then out. I found myself curled up around my knees with no memory of moving.

Alistair hugged me and pulled me back into an upright position. “Duran, I am so sorry. I didn't know it would- In a hindsight that was pretty obvious. I am sorry.”

“I am... alright.” I was alright. The pain came and went and didn't even bother to leave a phone number behind. “Just... don't do that again. Can I hear your diagnosis now, though?”

“Uh, sure.” He let go off me. Sad thing, Alistair was warm and the night very much was not. I had longed for a good hug and a bunch of radishes to munch on for two weeks now.

Alistair, however, seemed embarrassed by the previous display of affection, and as such he retreated back on his sleeping mat from where he delivered: “You quite literally have a magical crack in your head. The rune that boy put in there works kind of like stitching, I think? It seems to hold the gap together in the middle. Honestly, it wouldn't occur to me that one could do that, but it also wouldn't occur to me you can get a crack like that in your head. Live and learn, huh?”

“We'll see about that living bit.”

After that Alistair decided to check my head every evening, and I in turn slept with a kerchief wrapped around my head. My friend was growing rather worried about my condition and I didn't need to ask to make the conclusion that my crack was obviously bigger.

“It's not just that,” Alistair shook his head when I confronted him with it some days later during our night watch together. “It's changing colour, too.”

“Let me guess,” I grumbled as I added another log to the campfire. “It's turning red.”

He sounded surprised: “How do you-”

“It's the lyrium, and it's turning red. Logical, since this whole Grey Warden thing we have going on here makes me taintied and the taint spreads. I hear it, you know.”

That was a bit of a lie, though. While I did hear it, it wasn't that often.

“You... hear it?” Even in the dim light of the low fire we were keeping I could see him going pale. Or maybe I imagined it, but it was clear that he was afraid.

I nodded: “Don't worry. It's not the Calling. You're not getting rid of me that quickly.”

A long heavy silence. Finally Alistair said: “So, you know about the Calling. Did... Did Duncan tell you before we left?”

Ah, shit. I wasn't supposed to know about the Calling yet. _Think fast, think fast and lie!_ So I smiled and said: “No, no. But I lived in Orzammar, remember? Sometimes a Grey Warden or two came, headed into the Deep Roads and then never came back. Not all of them did it sober. A curious little dwarf wants to get a pint with the tall topsiders. They tell you about many interesting things: politics, dogs, their love affairs, the Calling...”

“And you still joined the Grey Wardens? Even though you knew?”

 _It's not like I had a say in it._ “It was that, the Legion of the Dead or a darkspawn and me at a shady corner at some forgotten and lost thaig. And the Legion hasn't got an ounce of a fashion sense.”

Because a lot is forgiven to comedy, Alistair chuckled and let the topic swim its own way back to the sea. Still, when Loghain and Leliana came to send us to sleep and take our spots, it came as a relief. It was also nice to see those two getting along. I wasn't sure what exactly happened with them, but if Sten and Oghren were a reliable source of information, it included a broodmother's tentacle, a sword, a broken bow, and some garotting.

I made excuses to head somewhat further away from the camp into the thick bushes to relieve myself. I didn't go far enough to loose the sight of the fire, but far enough to be able to be quietly ambushed by anyone lurking silently in the darkness.

That was almost exactly what happened.

“You messed everything up, you know,” said a cracking voice behind me. I could have sworn one of the thin trees on my left moved.

“Good evening, Flemeth,” I said with a calm I didn't feel. “I have noticed that you have the tendency to show up when people have their pants around their ankles, but until tonight I though it was always metaphorically.”  
“Oooh, manners. Do you think those are going to help you? After everything you've done?” She was circling me, and now she was almost in front of me, illuminated by a swarm of fireflies.

“One step further, madam, and I'll pee on your shoes.” My voice remained cheerful, but had a warning edge to it.

Flemeth stopped. She looked at her feet and then at me and what I was doing. “Ah.”

Once my side duty was over and I had belt around my trousers again, Flemeth turned from her extremely interesting patch of mushrooms back to me: “What do you think you are doing?”

“Like, right now, or in general?”

“Do not try to play me a fool, girl.”

I crossed my arms. I should have been afraid, but at the moment I was tired, I had a month and half to live or so, and as such I couldn't give a fuck. “I am not. My question is genuine.”

“Why are you meddling? What do you gain from this? You aren't even a creature of magic... or high ambitions.” Flemeth was... confused? That was new. Only then I realised that she had called me a girl just a moment prior. She wasn't talking to Duran. She was talking to me.

I sighed: “Gain? Nothing. I survive here one miracle at a time. This place has nothing for me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Wish I knew.

That seemed to take Flemeth by surprise, enough for her not to be able to reply. To fill in the silence I asked: “How's Morrigan? I haven't seen her around.”

“Tsk.” Flemeth sharply turned her head. There was a brief morphological confusion around her and then she was gone. For a brief moment a dark looming shape covered the stars. My guess was it was something very dragon-shaped.

 _So, we don't talk about Morrigan now. Why is that?_ I wondered as I made my way back to the camp and into the tent. The answer to my question offered itself: Morrigan had run away. She wanted to do something like that for a long time, and now with an army camping in her backyard what could be easier? Flemeth lost her among people. I wouldn't be surprised at all if I found Morrigan back at Ostagar, having three Templars wrapped around her fingers.

I rolled into my sleeping bag with the uneasy feeling that I stepped on some very big toes. And not only Flemeth. My hope was to just get out of the way before they start kicking.

Tomorrow we would reach the Calenhad docks, thought, so I had more pressing things to worry about.


	13. The Ghibli Movie Scene before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sock-sliding is not recommended. Patience is.  
> This chapter somehow managed to go without taint.

We arrived to the docks the next morning as planned. We rose from the beds early and took to walking. We reached the Lake Calenhad which was covered in ominous mist, the remains of the Imperial Highway protruding from the water like a broken spine.

“That means the autumn is truly here,” Loghain sighed. “The lake is going to be covered in fog until it freezes over. I hoped it would not come to this. Hmph.”

We looked at him expectantly, because we were waiting for the ferry to come to the shore, and therefore we had nothing better to do.

“The fight with the darkspawn. It is going to drag over into winter,” he elaborated.

Alistair blinked in few times as if preventing himself from saying out loud what an idiot Loghain is. What he said instead was: “A Blight takes years. It can be a well over a decade before we manage to stop it.”

That seemed to take the wind out of the teyrn's sails so to speak, so the remaining hour or so we've spent in silence and a bit freezing by the lakeside. We took turns throwing sticks to Wilde. Oghren threw one of the sticks into the lake, to which my best furry friend responded by fetching it and then shaking the water off of himself right next to Oghren. Safe to say that nobody else tried to repeat that.

It took another hour or so for the ferry to get us across the lake Calenhad itself, thus by the time we entered the tower of the magi, the fog has dissolved and the mystery of the lake was gone, leaving behind green-brown water.  
Once inside we were greeted by a very pretty older elven lady who has introduced herself as Aslibe, and in the most monotonous and sleep-inducing voice possible she asked us for the reason of our visit. That prompted Alistair to go on a very complicated tangent full of unnecessary details and very little sense.

“What is that with her?” Oghren asked.

“She is Tranquil,” I answered. “A mage who has been severed from the Fade, therefore loosing her magic and emotions, but gaining resistance to lyrium.”

My dwarven companion was hungover and unimpressed: “I also have the emotional depth of a nug and no connection to the Fade and you don't see me talking like a moron.”

“We do,” all of us replied in unison. It was quite sad that the Templars had to stay vigilant with poker faces and show nothing, and that Aslibe had no emotions and therefore didn't feel amused, thus making the rest of us feel to awkward to even chuckle at our own joke.

Aslibe nodded her pretty head and pushed few strands of greying hair that were bothering her out of her face. “I will bring your inquiry to the First Enchanter. Remain here, have patience.”

Therefore we spent another long while waiting in the entrance hall which had nowhere to even sit down. There were two people who were seemingly completely fine with it: Sten, whom you'd always find in the evening where you put him in the morning unless you told him to move, and Alistair, who positioned himself under the window where stood practically motionlessly, only sometimes shifting weight from foot to foot, probably to prevent loosing going stiff. It felt as if there was one Templar more, truth be told.

Leliana took herself to a corner where she begun silently praying, an act that met with a lot of approving nods. Loghain took to inspecting the stained glass in the windows. I myself slowly sunk to the floor with my thoughts.

Flemeth had very vaguely implied that by preventing the huge death toll at Ostagar I broke the history. Though, the history, as far as I knew, would have been a shitshow. On the other hand, what did I have here? Nothing besides the knowledge of what would or could happen next. And it was true that with each of my decisions I was derailing the future further and further from what I knew. Cailan lived. Caridin returned to Orzammar. Lothering wouldn't be destroyed, so the Hawkes would have no reason to go to Kirkwall. With Loghain not supporting the blood mages and Uldred,there would not be any havoc in the Kinloch Hold during which Anders could run away, get recruited into the Grey Wardens and later desert them, wind up in Kirkwall as well and blow up the Chantry which would basically prompt like half of the Inquisition.

Granted, those were problems for a me year in the future. The future which I probably didn't have anymore. I had six weeks, maybe a bit less. Maybe a bit more. Depending on what Sandal actually did to me, and what the magi would say about my condition.

“Hey, Duran,” Oghren breathed to my face which put my thoughts into a halt as I tried not to throw up. “Do you need me here? I was in for the fighting, you know. Not men in skirts.”

“They are robes.” I stood up. I was glad that Oghren was a person with whom I had the smallest height difference, no need to make one by me sitting down. Oghren was tall enough for a dwarf as It was. “What are you about?”

“Well, the best is getting all tense,” he pointed to Wilde, “and so am I. I saw a pub on the shore and got coin with me. I though I'd wait for you there. When your forever diplomatics are over, you can pick us up. At least the dog won't shit on all these fancy tiles.”

I was about to tell him that the idea wasn't viable, but both Sten and Leliana raised their heads and threw me a pleading look. I couldn't do it to them. “Sure. Wilde?”

“Woof?”

“You're in charge.”

Once the two of them were out, one of the Templars, who by the voice could have been a woman but not necessarily, asked: “You let the dog to be in charge?”

“You wouldn't?” I replied. And I had a very good point, because the talkative Templar didn't ask anything more.

I became bored rather quickly after that, though. I had lost the train of thoughts and there was nothing to spend time with. And I couldn't very well start pacing across the room, because Loghain had ran out of windows to admire and took to the pacing first. So I sat back down, ruffled my braided beard, and stared somewhere between nothing and something on the wall across me.

It took Loghain sixteen steps to cross the chamber from Alistair's spot at the wall to Sten's spot at the pillar, three steps to circle the pillar, making one trip being 37 steps long. He made the trip fifty-nine times before I stopped counting. Colourful shadows moved across the floor as the time progressed. When the blue square crossed another tile and half, Aslibe returned.

“The First Enchanter will see you now. Follow me.” She didn't wait for us and turned straight back to walk out of the room.

We would have walked in silence if it wasn't for Leliana who nudged Alistair. “Have you been here before?”

“As a part of my training, yes.”

Leliana perked up: “Anything we should know?”

Alistair thoughtfully hummed and then said: “On socks you can slide almost the whole length of the library with a good head start speed. Also the local Knight-Commander doesn't like loud noises, for example a full Templar armour ramming into bookshelves and then falling on the butt.”

“Maker have mercy,” someone sighed, obstructed to me by Sten's massive thighs and even more massive sword. “He is back.”

Because Aslibe stopped and our party became less compact, I got to see who it was very quickly, though: No one else than Knight-Commander Greagoir himself. Right next to him was standing First Commander Irving who was sporting an amused smile. All that Greagoir was sporting were dark bags under his eyes. And his whole armour. He wasn't stark naked as the previous description would make you think. _Shame that_.

It took exactly three sentences for Alistair to greet them both, tell them that we were here on the behalf of the Grey Wardens, and that we are here to recruit our promised forces to fight the blight. Then he performed Pocket Macarena with his bag when he searched for the scroll case with the treaties, and handed them to Irving so he could see we weren't bullshitting the Circle.

Sten interrupted the examination of the treaties with a blunt question: “How long are we going to wait now?”

“For my decision, I can give you that now,” Irving returned the treaties to Alistair: “We will of course honour the treaties. We are compelled to. However, and I am basing this assumption off the glare the Knight-Commander is trying to strangle me with, the discussion of the details of how many and who exactly will directly join the Wardens' efforts. Especially since there already members of our Circle at Ostagar.”

“Irving, you cannot send more magi to-”

“Save that for the evening meeting, Greagoir. And to you, Wardens and Your Lordship, the Circle offers hospitality for the night.”

We were slightly embarrassed to accept, but in all honesty, the vision of an actual bed where I wasn't in the danger of waking up with Alistair using me as a pillow... well, it was too irresistible to dismiss the invitation.

“In that case, Aslibe, if you would show them the guest quarters, and then ask Alim to show them the tower.” Irving seemed quite pleased with the situation. “If at any moment you have the need of me, I shall be in my office. Anyone in the tower will be able to point you in the right direction.”

“And,” Greagoir added, “absolutely no sock-skating in the library.”

However, the Knight-Commander obviously had never had a class in programming, because the very first thing Sten did in the guest quarters was that he took off his shoes and tried to slide across the floor. It was obviously the first time he had ever tried this act, as he tripped over his own heels and the nearly three meters of a Quinari landed flat on me. Suddenly I had three more sympathies of Greagoir. Events escalated quickly

Because of these shenanigans it was only when I was sitting slightly shaken and flattened on the top of Leliana buried when I noticed that Alistair was missing.

“I won,” Loghain claimed.

“You won fuck all,” Leliana hit him with her pillow again. I was fairly certain that I was the clear winner of the pillow fight, but I didn't want to be hit with a pillow, so I kept it to myself.

Instead I said: “I lost Alistair.”

“I am not lost,” answered Alistair who had just entered the door. “While you were busy strengthening your combat prowess and mutual trust, I've asked the First Enchanter if anyone here could take a look at your head. The answer is yes, but only tomorrow morning. Since we are sleeping over...”

“Judgemental approval,” Loghain grunted as he rolled himself out of a blanket prison we had captured him in. “You are learning quickly.”

Alistair smiled: “I've got that from Duran.” I was suddenly reminded of all the times I called for dinner with lines such as “If you are finished with your exchange of opinions, perhaps you could pay attention to the fact that you aren't going to sleep hungry tonight.”

Sten hit me with his pillow for being an indirect teacher. Which fair, but it hurt. I didn't bother getting up from the floor, only rolled out of reach to say: “Thanks, Alistair.”

I spent the rest of the day exploring the tower, avoiding magi and Templars alike. Eventually I ended up in the library. Mindful of Gragoir's ban I kept my shoes firmly on and sat down in a quiet corner with a Modern Dwarven Dictionary (featuring Runes Old and New), because there were things I couldn't just fake 'till I made them and Oghren came a few times too close to call me out on it.

When the light began fading in the library, I noticed that nobody lit the candles. Instead the people slowly retreated towards dinner. I knew they went to the dinner, because Leliana came to collect me and told me that there is dinner and if I wanted some, I should follow her. Because we missed out on our lunches because of all the waiting, I was very happy with a dinner, especially an one I didn't have to cook myself. It was a bean gruel, but it wasn't bad. And the tea was great. Apparently the Ferelden Circle lived on strong black tea with honey and lemon.

Perhaps it isn't that bad to be a mage in Thedas after all.

We went to sleep rather early. I fell particularly tired, so for once I didn't toss and turn in the covers for hours and fell asleep rather quickly. Maybe it was something they put in the food. Or maybe it was the exhausting pillow fight. Which I had definitely won, by the way, I did not care what Loghain said about it. I was the judge of my victory. And I had been sitting on the top of the pile when we had finished. Victorious me!

I dreamed of the usual turning into a monster, tearing everyone I cared about into shreds, sometimes even eating pieces of them. I learned to push myself away from it in the morning by then, but the dreams still felt incredibly terrible in the moment that I had them, and I knew that by distancing myself from them I was no solving the problem. The fact that I tended to wake up ravenous enough to tear into a raw head of cabbage with just my teeth and fingers did not help.

At least the cabbage was a bit like radishes. I yearned for radishes. The cold, crispy wet crunch, the tingle of spiciness on tongue. Radishes and rukola. But the closes I got was cabbage. I wished for simpler times when I took Tesco for granted and could buy a watermelon in the middle of winter. Overpriced, but a watermelon. _Mmm... watermelons_.

I woke up because of a loud metallic clang. It took me a moment to realise that the sound wasn't the low constant ringing of a distant and large bell that reverberated through the room, but that it was, in fact, Alistair dressing up into his armour. Leliana was shaking Sten to wake him, up, Loghain was collecting himself off the floor and reaching for his sword.

“What's happening?” I asked, shaking the sleep off.

Alistair, more awake than anybody else, replied in a whisper: “The Blood Bell. There is a maleficar in the Tower. Perhaps more than one.”

“That woke you up?” I frowned.

“I was trained to wake up when it rings. So yes. It did. Just kick him, Leliana, you need to find cover.”

“Us? And what are you going to do?” Loghain hissed.

Alistair turned to him with a suspicious gleam in his eyes: “I am going to join the hunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Male Surana's default name is Alim. I just wanted you to know that he is fine.


	14. Things Start Falling Apart (Where By “Things” I Mean “Head”)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me:Abominations - 1:1

With the exception of Alistair who had a huge chip on his shoulder or perhaps some unresolved bloodlust issues, none of us was feeling like taking up on a rogue mage, whether they were a blood mage, an abomination, or just regular bonkers. Not even Sten felt like. In fact, especially Sten did not feel like it.

“We ought to find a more secure location,” Loghain whispered, “we are too in the open here.”

Leliana maintained a serious voice as she asked:“Are you suggesting some more remote room, or are you thinking of the Spoiled Princess on the other side of the lake?”

“If you can get us across the lake right now,” Loghain mumbled, “you can all get black out drunk and I'll pay the tab. But since we aren't there yet, we should head to the basement.”

It occurred to me that Loghain only sounded as if he had a plan. Probably because the only other option he had was to panic. I could relate to that, so often it was me who had to look up like I had a plan and not panic for the sake of others, although admittedly my experience in this field was with group school projects.

One by one we silently sneaked out of the guest room. I could hear my heat beating all the way up in my ears. I was trying to remember to breathe. With a lot of force I calmed myself down. I was going to be fine. And if I wasn't, I was going to blow out in a flash of tainted lyrium and I obviously couldn't do that as a guest to the cleaning staff.

And then somebody tackled me from the side, somebody taller but also much lighter even though I was still just in plain clothing. Therefore their momentum was not enough to send me down, but barely. I stumbled and instinctively punched at the attacker.

The attacker yelped too loudly: “Maker's mercy, I am sorry. I, uh, thought you were... err... someone else.”

What was I supposed to do? I helped the young man back on his feet and gave him a good look, as good as the dark hallway allowed anyway. Either it was a nightgown season, or this was a mage. “Charmed, I'm sure,” I said in a cocky voice.

He dusted himself and smiled: “You are the Teyrn's Grey Warden envoy, right? I am Finn, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“We don't have time to pick apart how wrong that sentence was,” Loghain growled. “What are you doing out here?”

Finn shivered. “The dormitories are too in the open, and there is three abominations on the loose, Cullen said so. I thought I'd hide in the repository. Nobody ever goes there and the sentries protect it.”

Loghain nodded. “What a coincidence. That was also our plan.”

From behind him I could hear Sten pointing out albeit quietly: “You said ‘basement.’”

“Repository is in the basement,” Finn replied, not realising that Sten was actually calling the teyrn a bullshitter. “I'll go with you. Safety is in the numbers.”

And so we added Finn Something Something Esquire, base specialisation Spirit Healer to the party, and proceeded under his navigation. Above us we heard distant stomping, yelling, clattering of armour, and from time to time a fizzling spell. But we ourselves were without any problems. Well... there was one.

To get into the basement we had to cross a big open hall. Leliana went first to unlock the door, because of course it got locked during the night. And we were supposed to follow he into the door one by one. Easy peasy lemon squeazy you'd think. Except for the bestial noises coming from the hallway ahead towards the staircase up. We had to hurry.

It probably was not the best idea for me to go last. It was probably to be completely expected that a humanoidly shaped something rams into me when I get into the middle of the room. But I didn't expect it. The abomination and I rolled and tumbled across the floor, it trying to tear me apart and me trying to writhe free. I had a dagger on me, but no time to draw it.

Something tickled me in my nose, gently as a burning chair hitting me in face. I squinted at the blue glowing specks now covering me. Oh, Stone's wayward pebbles, why is it always me who gets to have the lyrium all over themselves?

SNEEZE.

I had it in my nose! Oh no. “Achoo!”

On the bright side it made the Abomination above me stop trying to tear my head of. On the bad side I tasted something metallic at the back of my throat. Blood. I sneezed again, my nose and mouth were burning and I was pretty certain that the spray that came out of them was blood. And my headache returned. My face felt too tense.

Three times's the charm. I sneezed again and the tension in my face very painfully released. Everything went blurry and blue and faded into black.

I woke up. I say “woke up” because I presumed at the moment that I had been asleep, because I was laying down and had my eyes closed and felt that sort of botting up like I do when I wake up. The moment when I know that I exist but am not yet sure how I exist.

The first thing I realised about the world was that it was off. By about ten degrees or so. The second thing I realised was that it was kind of wobbly, like jelly. Third and last of all was the fact that I was naked. But since it wasn't cold, it didn't bother me much. But the large hairy dwarven chest rippling with muscles that I was used to was gone. This was... soft squishy frail me.

_Boy, aren't I in a pickle now..._

Truth be told, I was sort of upset about the whole body thing. I liked being Duran, you know? He was quite strong and had really really awesome beard. I had better hair, true, but not that nice blonde. My hair was a dull brown and it got everywhere.

I was... somewhere. It was the most place-like place I had ever been to. I wasn't exactly sure why I thought that. It had solid ground littered with objects which were extremely object-like and shaped like shapes, and above my head was a clear sky. However, the land and the sky did not meet on the horizont. There wasn't any horizont to speak of.

The entire place appeared as a child's drawing to me, if you taught the child to draw strict realism instead of stick figures. It was a place trying too hard to convince me it was real when it damn well knew it was only a touch more real than, say, a dream.

_A dream?_ So... this would be the Fade, wouldn't it? People, with the exception of dwarves, go to Fade when they are asleep... but I had dreams before and never realised I was in the Fade. People also go to the Fade when they die. _Did I die?_

That was a dumb question. I sneezed my whole face off. Of course I died.

I finally sat up and rubbed my eyes. I realised that I was not wearing my glasses, and right in that moment the world became far more blurry. “Well, that si inconvenient,” I said out loud in case my complaint would change anything. It didn't.

Once I saw through the Fade's ruse it became easier to focus on my surroundings, though I had to squint to see properly. My near-sightedness wasn't horrible, but even three dioptres on each eye makes it difficult. Especially when the colouring of the raw Fade is extremely monotone.

In theory I could have stayed at my spot for the rest of eternity. It would have been safe and probably convenient to many people. Unfortunately I got bored within five minutes, so I began wandering around.

The ground beneath my feet, had absolutelz no texture, even though it looked like patches of sand, grass, and pebbles. It also was my temperature, so it felt neither warm nor cold. It made me wonder whether or not am I actuallz standing on anything. Or if I was standing at all. Maybe I wasn't and I was just a shapeless essence floating in a primordial miasma of ideas and concepts and my mind in selfdefense made me think I was seeing a grassy path across gaping stormy void along which I could travel in order not to go insane from dealing with this new and unknown form of reality. That was an extremely specific thought and I wasn't even sure it was mine.

I needed to get back. Fade was incredibly boring, and I was in the middle of something on Thedas. That something was saving it. And also I didn't want that abomination to get away with killing me. _You don't get to kell me, that's not how things are done._

“Please protect us,” the wind carried gentle words to me. Were they for me? It came from over the twisted statue with seven claws. I hoped those were claws. Curious I followed. What was it going to do to me, kill me? Not likely.

The voice on the wind grew a little stronger, just enough so I could tell the nuances. Probably a man, whispering, slightly trembling: “I compel you, protect the children of the Maker. I compel you drive away those who would harm us.”

It wasn't just words, it carried with itself very vivid images. Cold stone room with rows and rows of bed. Wide eyed children curled up next to each other. Blood in the air. The certainty of a demon present. I didn't know how I knew it but, I knew it was the Kinloch Hold.

Was it a message for me? It had to be. Someone was calling me back. They were lost without me after all, only I knew what to do.

I followed the voice, running across the raw and twisted fields of Fade, searching for its source. It cried: “Please protect us.” The words were desperate and I was getting out of breath, but I also was getting closer. How did I know that?

There was a crack, black as pitch, and the voice was coming from it. I leapt into it, practically flying for the last ten meters of the way. It would have been far cooler if I had realised it at hat time. Or if I had known I could do that here sooner. Nevertheless the cold blackness swallowed me like a raspberry.

“Please.”

The next thing I knew I was feeling extremely weightless and super angry, because in front of me I saw an abomination. The abomination. The specific abomination which killed me probably not that long ago. Oh boy, I was about to whoop its ass, because it couldn't kill me again.

I took it by surprise by kicking it in the guts. I wasn't corporeal, so my foot and heel obviously flew through it despite my three years of taekwondo training that happened ten years ago, but from the agonised howl it seemed the human-turned-monster took some damage from it anyway. Of course it did, inside there was a demon and on its own that wasn't a material being either. In its nature. It was just wearing this body as a costume.

I never was a fighter, especially now that I couldn't rely on strength. But I was seriously pissed and if I could beat my old school bullies, who were the worst fights I ever got into – and into that I count what happened at Caridin's Crossing – the same tactic was going to work here on this abomination. The strategy was easy: punch with everything I had, be it feet, fists, knees, head, or elbow, and punch fast enough not to let the bastard realise he could try to fight back.

It was kind of a fight in the mud without the mud, I supposed, but it worked. The fortune smiled on me when the abomination toppled backwards and hit its head on the bedframe. The sharp stench of blood filled the air. Blood doesn't smell his strongly, but I suppose that since I came from the fade, I was more like a shark. I smelled life force.

It filled me with such anger. Why was it alive when it killed me? How dared it?

“How dare you?” I hissed. _That was my life. It was rightfully mine!_ And I was about to take it back. Just you wait...

I punched the abomination in face, and this time I even felt some resistance. I didn't stop and punched and kicked and even bit a few times, my mouth filling with more blood, thick and tasting like rust. Gross.

Eventually the abomination stopped moving and I stood over it, feeling heavy and tired, heavily breathing and spitting out blood that wasn't my own.

“Bastard,” I spat out. “That's what you get.”

I kind of sat down. I say “kind of”, because it was more of collapsing. My heart was racing and the cold floor was making my ass freeze, but it was helping me to calm down. I pushed loose strands of my hair out of my face and rubbed my eyes. God, I want a nap.

Somebody behind me cleared his throat. I turned around and squinted at the dark humanoid blob. I totally missed it at first, but... it didn't seem hostile. The blob made a few steps towards me and stopped very dramatically in a flood of light cast into the room by the moon. A rather tall man, light skinned, fair-haired with a ponytail. An earring in his right ear gleamed in the dark. From behind him was peeking practically a whole elementary classroom.

Two things clicked to be practically at the same time: First of all, it was Anders. Second and more important to me at the moment, I was still naked.

A third chimed in when I looked back over at the abomination: I had just killed a man with my bare hands. If we don't count the darkspawn, which I didn't, and Branka when I was not exactly in control of myself, this doubled my bodycount. Literally, as I now also had a second body. Heh, one or two more like this and I would have to stop poking at my sister for going through phones so quickly.

“Are you... alright?” Aners asked me with a lot of caution.

I giggled, because seriously? I was covered in blood, naked, my hair had to be horrible, and he asks me if I am alright? Wasn't I supposed to be a spirit to him? A spirit who probably drew on the life force of its opponent to make itself a body, which is something that lays far beyond the grey area of magic, even? And he was worried if I was alright! Wasn't that hilarious? It was. I had to laugh.

I was remotely aware that I was in a shock. Acknowledging that was the first thing that helped me to overcome it to think more rationally.

Somebody behind Anders, a tiny child voice, said: “You should probably tell the First Enchanter about this.”

“Not like this. First she needs to put some clothes on,” Anders replied, and soon it was followed by the sound of rustling clothes. Then he came to me and pulled warm dress-like something over me. Some cat fur got into my mouth, but I used to live with three cats, four if you counted the outdoor one, so I felt right at home.

I stood up and looked at the too-big over-robe Anders borrowed me. It was twice my size, but it was something.

I sighed: “I really, really don't want to explain this one to Alistair. Or Loghain. Especially Loghain.”

In return Anders was staring at me as if I just burped out a living toad. _Ah shit, I have to explain now, don't I?_


	15. If Anyone Would Tell Me What the Rest Had Been up to That'd Be Nice, Thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Oracle of Ferelden is revealed and Loghain finally gets what he deserves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry about dying (he he, because I died the last chapter, get it?) on you for such a long time. I am getting adjusted to new work and Dragon Age hyperfocus has finally let me from its grasp which allows my brain to function normally, but also means I write less.  
> I am still dedicated to bring the first part of this story, that is the part that covers the Origins, to a successful end.

Anders was half carrying and half dragging me through the coiling corridors and staircases of the Kinloch Hold which was slowly flooded by the light of sunrise. I saw my reflection in a polished shield and didn't get a heart attack only because I've seen myself at worse. Though usually my worse was not covered in blood above the waistline. On the upside, the light made Anders's hair look like it was on fire which looked pretty nifty.

“So you are a spirit from the Fade, you know what could have happened, you possessed a presumably dead dwarf through a secret ritual, and are now trying to make future happen even though the King did not die which he was supposed to?”

“Well, I am not exactly-”

Anders didn't let me continue, because he had put the question mark there just as an excuse to breathe and seamlessly add more oversimplified rhetorical questions: “And you say that I am supposed to get this cat Ser Pounce-a-lot and start a clinic in Kirkwall, and not loose my earring, right?”

“Alright, Anders I have a favour to ask: Stop repeating everything I have said without the context, would you?”

“I mean, you sound like an oracle of a derailed world. I think it's pretty badass actually.”

I gave him a weak smile and leaned more of my weight on him, because my legs were giving out more and more. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a warm bed and sleep for a century. “The only ass that is bad is the Archdemon's, and I am going to kick it. Well, not me. I am going to make sure he gets kicked.”

“And you need to get through the whole werewolf forest because of that, right? For the elf thing. And the poet tree.”

“Especially the poet tree. I like that tree. His name is Grand Oak.” _Perhaps there's a poet's soul in me..._ And now I was certainly having that stupid smile I usually reserved for baby pandas.

Anders knocked on the door we stopped in front of. I was vaguely aware we were going to see the First Enchanter. Like, rationally I realised it, but at the moment I did not consider it to be my problem. I had a feeling that Alistair was inside.

And he indeed was! He was mostly a blood-coloured blurry spot among more blurry spots, but he was talking, so it was definitely him. I waved at him because he was a person I knew. Hi might have waved back, he was too far away to tell, but for sure he shut up.

Another blurry spot approached us and revealed itself to be Irving who said: “Anders, good that you could join us so quickly. I am glad that Cullen found-”

“I haven't gone for him yet, sir,” said a set of massive armour by the door which I had only now noticed was not purely decorative.

“Hi, Cullen,” I waved at him too. Cullen did slowly wave back, very confusedly.

Irving took Anders by the shoulder and approached the congregation of people standing awkwardly with Alistair in the corner. The people were: Loghain, Lelliana, Sten, whom I recognised first of the lot after Alistair because he was tall, and Finn something something Esquire. They were standing around a bed on which laid a dwarf. I didn't really have to look all that closely because I recognised the face almost immediately. I wore it for the past few weeks.

Not that there was much left of the face – the brilliantly red and blue veins were swollen, most of the nose and a good part of the front upper jaw were both literally chipped away, like a statue. The back of the head was growing and through the hairline there were showing red cracks. The eyes were open and most of all they reminded me of glass marbles.

Anders just stood there and studied the corpse. After a moment he turned to Irving: “Alright, what do you want me to do here?”

“With Wynne joining the valiant army in Ostagar,” Irving didn't let himself be interrupted by Loghain's choked scoffing, “you are one of the best healers in the tower. I know that you do not hold much-”

“With all due respect, First Enchanter, “Anders said like someone doubting if any respect is due at all, “unless I am the second coming of the Maker, all I can do for the dwarf here is to close his eyes and call for a priest. In heavy gloves, because I smelled the lyrium from across the hallway.”

I felt very bad for Duran. This was my fault. If somebody was to close the eyes for him, it would be me. I felt the whole room watching me as I slowly reached my fingers out.

Something bit me.

The next thing I knew I was laying on the other side of the room, and if the groaning was any hint, I was laying on some Templar chest. Which would explain why my back hurt so much, because I had the vague feeling I had been flying through the air. If this was where I landed.

The Templar below me, it was Graegoir, said: “That is not a language appropriate for such a young lady.”

“Why, what did I say?”

“You said: ‘Oh fucking shit, here comes the Warden nightmare trainwreck again!’,” Sten said helpfully. Then he added: “What is a ‘trainwreck’?”

“I think it's a spirit thing,” Anders whispered in the loud conspirational way. “She likes that word a lot. Orzammar politics are a trainwreck, the Denerim Alienage is a trainwreck, Haven is a trainwreck... oh, and also it's an allegory to menstruation.”

Leliana asked quite confusedly: “What is that supposed to mean?”

“No idea,” was Anders's answer, “but it has to do something with a dragon.”

I got off Greagoir and found myself once again shaking. Oh, not only I was tired, I was also hungry. Great. “Of course it has to do with a dragon. Everything has to do with a dragon here. It's not called Dragon Age for a lack of dragons, you know.

“I thought it had to do with cats and a clinic,” Anders muttered.

“We'll get there when we get there, alright? Where would be the Justice in in otherwise?” I had to giggle at my own pun. Poor Justice. Justice deserved better. Justice for Justice!

Greagoir carefully navigated me towards a chair and threw a cloak around my shoulders. I was beginning to feel very cold, so I bundled myself into it with two words of quiet thanks, and stared at the worn desk of the table while around me people buzzed and talked. I wondered if they'd let me wear Duran's armour again. Would I be able to wear it? Probably not, it was heavy. And it wouldn't be my size anyway.

My light dozing off was interrupted by someone shaking my shoulders and when I cracked my eyes open my entire field of view was filled with Loghain's hurlockish face. I pulled back until I hit the backrest and then said: “Hi.”

“Are you the Oracle?” Loghain asked me without as much as a wish of a good morning. He also did not let go of my shoulders and the grasp was getting slightly painful.

“Well, yesterday I was a dwarf, I suppose I can be whatever now.”

“See? The statue doesn't lie,” Finn said from behind Sten-shaped grey blob still stanting with the rest of the group around the bed. “I don't think she even can lie. Uh. ‘Didn't’ and ‘couldn't’. Past tense.”

“She is not Duran,” Sten protested. “She is a woman. Duran was not.”

“You say that with a lot of confidence for someone who both hasn't checked and can't cook his pilfered cabbage,” I grumbled as a retort, because the other option of how to respond to such a heaping of chauvinism was to castrate him with Asala, and given that the sword was still nearly twice my size and I couldn't be bothered to get out of my warm and comfy chair, being snarky was just far less complicated to execute.

“I take it back, that is definitely Duran.”

Alistair who probably wanted to be included: “Or, you know, whoever told us their name is Duran. Actually it's the Oracle. Smith of the Future. We need some fancy title.”

“Or we could just call her the Oracle. Him. It.” Loghain hesitated around the pronouns and when he got to the last one I kicked him under the table. There was a sound like a bare foot forcefully meeting studded leather shinguard, and then more unladylike language from me as I pulled my aching toes close to me.

I was somewhat vindicated, though, because Loghain had to bend down to rub his shin, and said: “Alright, not the last one, apparently it cause some kind of a knee-jerk reaction.”

There was some silence. Then Leliana did her long “hmmm” she did always when she concluded a whole episode of exchanges should be somehow summarised for those who came late – because they were for example throwing up black sludge in the side ditch – and wrapped up so we could move on. And because nobody took it upon themselves to provide the summary and conclusion, she said: “We are very grateful, Anders, that you saw our party member to safety, even though not in a way any of us expected. Since the Circle of Magi will honour the treaties with the Grey Wardens, I think our quest here is complete and we may go.”

I awkwardly put my hand up and waved, just like in school. “I am going to need some spare shoes. The old pair is no longer going to fit.”

Everyone – or I assumed that everyone – turned their gaze towards my bare feet which I stuck out from under the table into the air for them to admire. There was more silence. Finally Irving said: “I think that Alim Surana is about your size. With a pair of thicker socks you should have no problem.”

“Yes, but Alim's got toes so tiny he could walk around in teacups.”

“Finn,” Anders leaned to him back with his conspirational whisper, “unless you are volunteering your shoes, shut up.”

One shaken and sleep deprived elf mage later I was wearing quite comfortable shoes and Duran's old clothes. The armour did not fit me, so we ditched that, and the tunic when pulled back with a belt was a bit simplistic but fine dress.

Anders caught up with us at the door out of the tower. My intuition was telling me he was going to ask to go with us. My intuition was basing it off on the fact that he was carrying a bagpack. Anders put up a nervous smile: “I have been thinking, we are going to Ostagar, and you are, technically, also going to Ostagar, so-”

“Absolutely no,” Loghain cut him off.

But the rest of the party looked at me. “Well, what does the Oracle say about this?” Alistair asked me after a moment. Oh why do I have to make the decisions now?

“He is a healer. One of the best healers I got to run across in all the possible outcomes. Also, Anders, if you try to run off, especially anywhere near Amaranthine, I am handing you over to Cassandra.” I crossed my arms to look more serious about it, even though I was lying.

“Yes, the ghastly pentagram lady, you've mentioned her. Listen, you promised me a kitten and a clinic, I am down for anything you say. Well, not everything. I am not going to kiss Cullen.”

“Oh thanks the Maker,” Cullen mumbled. If he knew what the future held for him, I think he wouldn't think being kissed by Anders such a horrible fate. Or you know, maybe not, since Kinloch Hold didn't turn out to be a gory parade.

We packed Anders away with us in spite of Loghain's weak protests, and once we were across the lake we picked up Oghren and Wilde, who was very happy to see me and was the only person not weird about the fact that I no longer had a fancy beard or a penis. Unlike Oghren who pointed at me and asked: “What's that?”

“That's Duran. He's the Oracle now,” Alistair told him.

“And what's this?” the finger moved from me to Anders. Anders took a step back.

“This is Anders, he is a mage. Anders, this is Oghren, the last member of our group.”

Oghren frowned, finished his mug, and sighed: “I was hoping for a pony.”

“You don't want a pony, Oghren,” I smiled. “They're carnivorous. If you turn your back to it, it'll bite your head off, just like a deep mushroom.”

“You shitting me, right? There is no way they do that.” But he didn't sound too certain about it. He even paled a bit.

“A heard of them can take a bear apart, bones and all, and they don't even break a sweat. In fact, wild ponies are what keeps the bear population in Ferelden at bay.” I sounded very convincing. I had been able to say absolute bullshit with a straight face before, I was doing it now.

“No way,” the dwarf said as we were walking out of the Spoiled Princess. “I thought that was the giant spiders.”

“Those actually hunt ponies. Why do you think there are no ponies in the Deep Roads? Beautiful flat surface, many nugs and strayed dwarves to eat, even a bronto if you get lucky. No no, spiders are the only reason there is no pony infestation in Orzammar.”

Oghren turned to Sten: “She is taking the piss, right?”

Sten licked his lips and then very slowly answered: “Quinari do not keep ponies, those animals are too small. I saw some of these beasts used for labour in Lothering, though. It kicked a man in head. He died.”

Oghen gulped. “So, Anders you said the name was? Great to have you along!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While working on this chapter I worked out some plot road depressions (not necessarily holes) which will allow more smooth and also more original story.


	16. Howe Does That Work?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mostly conversational chapter about the Oracle business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I got late stage of Stardew Valley Brainrot, it's probably fatal, so I wasn't able to write as much.

Our little party turned out to be very surprised that both Anders and I were able to keep up walking with them the whole day. Though I had to admit that my backpack filled with bottled alchemical disasters was feeling heavier and heavier as the day progressed. Then again I was used to carry my bricky laptop and textbooks all the way back from high school, so this was quite fine with me.

We built our camp for the night past Cathford at a spot quite close to the woods that Anders led us to. In his words: “I myself made a camp here three times, it's a nice place, quite hidden away from the view from the main road.”

Alistair gave him the side eye: “You ran away?”

“A couple of times, yeah.”

“And the Knight-Commander just... let you go with us like this? They hadn't reprimanded you? Made Tranquil? Nothing?”

Anders handed me the carrots he had been peeling so I could mince them and add them to the pot. “Well, I got a year of solitary for the last one, but that's because I burned down a field. And I did that only because I got jumped by a pack of wolves, it wasn't as if I wanted to burn all the linen down to a crisp. I have nothing against linen. Oh, I know the look you are giving me.”

Alistair promptly looked away and back to cleaning his armour, but it was too late, because Anders continued: “You think that I am dangerous and should be locked up somewhere. Guess what, everyone is dangerous. Everyone is a potential mass murderer.”

“Like what,” Alistair chuckled, “you mean that Sten is going to panic and slaughter us with his bare hands?”

There was a beat of awkward silence as Sten visibly shrunk upon himself. I cleared my thought after a moment: “Just don't hide his sword, Alistair, and everything will be fine. A lot of people is one inconvenience away from loosing their marbles.”

“Alright, Oracle. I am not going to argue with your deep wisdom.” And with that Alistair left me to my cooking and returned to his armour maintenance.

The dinner was soup. It wast mostly vegetables and rabbit meat from one of the big-eared critters that Loghain caught The rest of the rabbit we roasted, but it was barely enough for all of us to get our fingers greasy and that was it.

While the rest of the men were teaching Anders how to build up a tent, Leliana scuttled over to me and Wilde who were in charge of washing the dishes. She looked at me for a long while before shyly asking: “Might I... have a question?”

“If you pass me the soap, sure.”

She passed me the bar of soap, I took a shaving of it with a knife and carried on with washing the dishes. Leliana moved to sit on the other side, because I accidentally splashed water at her a couple of times.

“So…” she began, fidgeting with her thumbs, “I wondered… If it’s alright to ask, I mean-” She paused and took a deep breath. The transformation was quite something amazing, she practically stepped out of herself one step back and two to the side. I’ve seen it many times with people who worked in customer support or retail when their parents or friends were being cretins and they just threw on the service smile. Except Leliana hardened and became a person who kills people and distributes information to make living. Silver tongue with a drop of poison, so to speak. A bardsona if you will, which you probably don’t.

The point of the whole thing was that with a calm expression and a little cutting edge to her voice Leliana finally managed to let the question out: “How does it work, being the Oracle?”

I blinked. I... was not expecting that question, truth be told. “Well, how would it. A guy says that you are the Oracle, and you don't argue with him, because he and the people around him are armed.” People forgive a lot to comedy. It is like a spoonful of honey you swallow with the bitter medicine, it helps the thing to go smoothly, but do it too many times and things get sticky.

Leliana chuckled, as expected, and eased up. “I meant... Do you see the future? Do you have dreams in which the fate of Thedas is revealed to you? Does the Maker whisper the next steps into your ear? Does being a spirit make you see the truth in the heart of men?”

I put the last cleaned spoon away and looked around. Everyone was paying attention, even Wilde who understood only vaguely, or so I thought, and even Oghren who cared for sod all and was in for the punching and for not having a better place to be.

“Alright, but what I am going to say is going to sound really weird and insane.”

Loghain looked up: “More weird than that you turned into a golem, shrugged of a self-detonation, died, turned into a tainted lyrium statue, and then came through the door as a woman all of sudden?”

He had a damn good point, I had to give him that. “Less weird, but also quite to the right from it.”

“So you don't turn into a high dragon and don't get all knowledge through drinking blood of mages?” Anders stopped pretending he wasn't listening. “I am lightly disappointed. I thought that if I screwed up summoning a spirit from the Fade for protection, it should be at least somewhat inhumane and monstrous.”

I still had to do the explaining and I couldn't use words such as “game book” or “video game” or even “video” in order not to confuse everyone. “I am trying to find a good way to explain this. Imagine... imagine a theatre, a bunch of ragtag thespians performing a play which for convenience sake I am going to call Origins. That play is about a hero who against all odds averts an inevitable disaster in a world where dogs fly and magic does not exist. The actors and actresses know who the characters of the story are and how they behave, and because they need to get tipped to get by, they alter the play each time to make the audience happy. In this metaphor I am the girl who's been sitting in the first row for years and seen the play many, many times, and I know what happens after what. I know that if the Duches dies at the beginning while holding a yellow flower, her son will never inherit her riches, and that to win the final battle the hero needs a blue lamp. But, and this is the current situation, the actor who plays the hero is sick and the troupe asked me to fill in for one evening that role.”

“That... is extremely impersonal, but not that weird,” Leliana said.

“You do realize that it is a metaphor for... for this, right? A world that a month and half ago was a made up fantasy for me is suddenly real, I am in it, and the historical events I have witnessed in it countless times in many of their variants are spiralling around me.” I might had sounded lightly hysterical. That was because I was. “I've seen one where Loghain dies. Where Alistair becomes a drunk... those two don't happen together by the way. I know what both Bhelen and Harrowmont are like kings.”

There was a soft rosy lip bitten and a hesitant nod: “I take it back, it is weird.”

Sten spoke, which came even more unexpected than the initial question: “Before it shattered, the statue said that the Oracle, if it is you, is the smith of future. That she shall break it and forge it new. What does it mean?”

I made a bunch of poorly articulated sounds. “Fine, okay, yeah. Back to the theatre metaphor: The moment I got on the stage, I fumbled the first line I said.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“I... changed the course of events. Rather dramatically. One of the fundamental events which always happened didn't come to pass. And before anyone offers: I am morally not alright with pointless mass slaughter just so the history would get closer to its original tracks. The original tracks were going through a lot of shit anyway.”

“And what was supposed to happen, then?” The irony that it was Loghain Mac Tir asking, the dude who was planning on betraying the king and having all Grey Wardens die, was not lost on me. In fact, I so embraced it that I had to choke down laughter.

“You do remember when I persuaded King Cailan not to go forward with the battle and wait for Arl Eamon instead?”

“I do recall your words were ‘We're going to get so massacred.’, yes.”

I nodded approvingly. People listened to me sometimes! Amazing. “We were supposed to get so massacred.” Then I watched as all the colour, or the little I could see of it in the firelight, drained from Alistair's face. Loghain kept looking at mi with an unspoken challenge for a good while longer, but I didn't even flinch.

What was he thinking about? Did he wonder if I knew? He probably realised that I did. Was he afraid I would tell on him? Would I do that? I wasn't sure myself. In all honesty, I didn't think it would be any help, because Alistair could get angry and just walk out on us. He could do that.

Anders to the rescue! “So that's what you meant when you said the King was supposed to die. Now it clicks. But wait, if everyone would die at Ostagar... then what?”

“Well, not _everyone_ ,” I said cautiously. “That would be kind of stupid, wouldn't it? If everyone died. But almost all of the Grey Wardens and half of the army – gone.”

“Most of the Grey Wardens?” Alistair turned even a shade paler. “Who'd make it? Duncan? Pabla?” It sounded like pleading, but I only shook my head. “Who then?”

“Well, you. And the Warden. In this particular case Duran, but I don't really think I'd make it through. Not really the fighting type. Sorry, Alistair. On the bright side: It did not happen and everyone is more or less fine.”

Leliana stopped chewing on her lip and asked: “The Warden? You talk about him as if he didn't have a name.”

I pulled myself closer to the camp fire. It was getting cold. Autumn was approaching rather quickly in Ferelden. “The Warden is a role that could be filled with different people. The circumstances could have been different. It depended on where Duncan decided to initially go. It could have been a mage from Kinloch hold, either Amell or Surana. It could have been the Cousland's second child. One of the casteless dwarves from Orzammar, the sibling of Bhelen's... lady companion. Or one of the Dalish Elves who are in the Brecillian Forest. Or the elf from the Denerim Alienage who started the insurrection against the Arl V-something. Or Duran. Or it could be a woman, but the background would be the same. As I said, the circumstances could have been different, and in the long term it isn't that important where they are from.”

Then there was long silence. Finally Oghren broke it with a belch and: “Piece of shit sodding story if you cut it off here, lass. So what's next in there?”

“Next? Well, the Warden, Alistair, and Morrigan – You remember Morrigan, Alistair, right? Yeah exactly, hair like that – those three go to use the Grey Warden treaties to gather some army against the darkspawn and also save Arl Eamon from being poisoned. And also stop a civil war.”

Now it was Loghain who paled: “Civil war? Ferelden would have a civil war?”

Leliana chuckled: “Didn't you say that the king is here to prevent the nobles from fighting among themselves? Obviously you teyrns would go after each others' throats.”

“Not really,” I shook my head. “Almost all Couslands are dead now, I am pretty sure.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Loghain blurted out: “How?”

“Yeah, Rendon.”

“No, I meant-”

I didn't let Loghain finish: “Yes, and the answer is Arl Rendon Howe.” I was rewarded with more silence. I sighed and continued: “Look, let's get this bread on the table: Rendon Howe is not a good person. Not even a well-meaning person.”

“He is a good politician-”

“Loghain, he just knows how to tug a rug from under someone's feet and kills people while they are on the ground. Which is a good strategy,” I waved my hands, “because that's when they can't defend themselves. So yes, he is a good politician in the way that he can navigate the politics to his advantage. He's in it for the power and the money. Everyone else around him is just a tool and opportunity to get them. I am pretty sure that the only reason that there aren't the Antivan Crows with Zevran in charge after us is because right now the Grey Wardens have too much support from higher places.”

More tense silence. So tense that some frogs in the background felt the need to croak to ease it up. It didn't exactly help. Finally Anders said: “I have to say that I'm thrilled to be on this road with you. It is an absolute trainwreck, whatever that is. You are a thrilling company. And exhausting. If you excuse me, I'll be heading into the sheets early.”

I watched him as he stood up and walked away. Then: “Hey, hold on, where are you going? That's Alistair's and mine tent!”

Alistair looked at me and had the decency to redden in embarrassment. “I... agreed to bunk up with Anders, seeing as I am somewhat trained and in case anything happens I can... well... Um.”

“He felt awkward sharing a tent with you now, since you are now woman-shaped,” Leliana explained. “I thought we'd be tentmates now.”

“Oh my god, we are a tentmates,” I mumbled, but more because of the meme rather than actually minding it. “But I warn you, I am probably still a screamy sleeper.”

“Honestly, I don't think that is going to change anything. We've been using you as a timer for the night watches on cloudy nights when the movement of stars isn't a reliable measuring method.” I wanted to take offence, but Leliana's smile disarmed me.

As such all I managed was: “Great.” And that was how I learned that Leliana was both a cuddly sleeper and small spoon. On the other hand, Anders could verify my statement that Alistair snored, so there was at least that.

We embarked on the road very early in the morning and managed to continue without any incident or accident besides a pebble in Oghren's shoe until it was a time we were slowly considering a lunch. I was just about to voice it out loud when a woman with fair hair and washed-out dress sort of ran sort of stumbled from behind a turn in the road which led through a ravine in limestone rocks.

The woman sighed out in relief when she saw us and hurried up to us with a new vigour in her step. “Oh, thank the Maker! We need help! They attacked the wagon; please help us.” When she noticed we drew our weapons, she added: “Follow me! I'll take you to them.” With that she turned around and ran back the way we came, only looking back once to make sure we were behind her.

Since we were armoured, we were considerably slower. I used the distance to quietly say: “The thing I said about the Crows yesterday?”

“How is that relevant?” Sten turned to me sharply, the Asala dangerously close to my thigh. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin along with the rest of us when a large tree fell across the road just behind our back.

“I spoke too soon. Don't kill the elf.”

From everywhere armed thugs appeared as if on a cue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter is Zevran chapter. Who's looking forward to that?  
> Me personally I am looking to what comes somewhat later. I think we are past the first quarter of the story now. Plot-wise anyway, not amount-of-text-wise.


	17. Murder Murder Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because someone almost kills you doesn't mean you don't like them. Especially if they have nice hair.

The fight was quick and brutal and I spent most of it hidden behind the wagon, which by the moss on the wheels has been there for some time already. I threw two flasks. The first by a miracle hit Zevran's knee and froze him solid and in place. I shouted: “Get the woman,” and darted for cover before I could explain she was a mage. Given that I was leaping behind the wagon because she threw a very lazily moving lightning at me, I didn't think it was actually necessary.

The second flask I pulled out blindly, and when it cracked open it turned out to be one of the experimental stink bomb. Unfortunately it worked. I got a couple of stinky eyes for that, pun not intended, and a stab in the upper left arm, which considerably freaked me out, as it was the most serious injury I've ever got in my life. Not counting the time I had a lyrium crack in my head, of course.

I moved my hysterical ass over to Anders who gave my arm a light pat with the healing spell. While it didn't hurt, it was more shock-inducing than the stab itself. I was pretty certain that the wound was still there, but it wasn't. I gave myself the resolution to never get wounded ever again. “Probably wise,” as Anders put it with a smile.

On the bright side I was allowed to keep some of the clothes that fit me and weren't too bloodied or mangled, and the couple of lightweight daggers. Duran's daggers were just too big for me for now.

We dragged frozen Zevran forther along the road where it was more breathable, and by “we” I mean “Sten with large mittens”. Once there we made a stop to check our wounds and patch ourselves together. It was there where I made the resolution of not getting wounded. As we were making sure we weren't missing any important bits, Zevran slowly thawed. We had laid him down on the ground, and he began sluggishly stirring

“Mmm... what? I... oh.” Not exactly the best first words to make an impression with, but he looked like a mouse robbed of a house when its turf was turned upside down. “I rather thought I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet.” He looked around and when nobody poked him with anything sharp, he sat up.

Loghain glanced at me: “Is it him?”

“Unless Zevran Arainai has a perfect copy running around loose, I dare to say that yes,” I nodded. _Shit, I have to be the Oracle now._ At least it was something to distract me from my arm.

“Oh, heard of me already? Such a well informed little minx, and a lovely too- Ow?”

I made sure he saw me picking up another rock. Since I was the person throwing flasks, my aim got better. I was pretty confident I would be able to hit Zevran's head again, even though my seeing was blurry. Once in Denerim, I had to get myself glasses. Necessarily. However, I said: “Keep that language to yourself, provocateur. Right now it is my conviction that you are more use and trouble while alive. Get to the part where you spill the beans.”

“Alright,” the elf sighed. “I am a member of the Antivan Crows, which you probably know since you know my name and all. I was brought here to carry out a deadly commission on Loghain Mac Tir. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

“You don't sound too torn about it,” noted the aforementioned teyrn.

“Well, it does set a rather poor precedent for me, getting captured by a target, doesn't it? Nips one's budding assassin's career. Since I am dead to the Crows for my failure, I can afford not to really care that their business hasn't worked out, though, can I not?”

I made my way over to Zevran and crouched down. We were about the same height I realised. If I tried, I could probably pass for an elf. Or a half-elf, given my eyes weren't... anime-esque. There was one thing that didn't click here, and I had to ask: “So, tell me, delicious friend, who was it that hired you?” Certainly Loghain wouldn't send an assassin on himself. Besides, when would he have the time to do that?

“A rather equivocal fellow in the capital. Howl, I think his name was? No, that's not it. Howard? Howe? Yes, that one. Howe. Kind of rat faced. I have no idea what his issues are with your handsome taciturn man here. The usual, I imagine. He threaten his power, yes?”

We exchanged glances around with our group. Finally Loghain asked: “Handsome?”

Zevran: “Oh, you mind? I am just trying to stay on your good side, trying to stay alive a little longer. A little flirting is good manners, or so I've been told.”

“But handsome?”

“It's the first on the scale on beauty,” Leliana mused. “Then it's twosome, threesome-”

“Alright, stop,” Alistair clapped his hands to put an end to the debate before he could turn beet-red in his whole face. Nevertheless Oghren topped over laughing, Zevran was snickering, I had regrets about what I had been saying around Leliana, and Sten was mumbling about not wanting to know.

“Shouldn't we be more focused on the shocking revelation of Arl Howe wanting to kill you?” Alistair continued.

Loghain shrugged: “I thought we had cleared up yesterday that it was and is a mistake to trust Rendon any further than you could stab. The question is what we do with him?” He made a gesture towards Zevran to make clear whom he meant, even though we had gathered it out of context on our own.

“We could eat him,” Sten said. I now had regrets about the casual cannibalism jokes I had around Sten, too.

“Well, here is a thing,” Zevran smiled like a man who's been putting a little speech together for the past five years just in case. “I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows a pause. So let me serve you, instead.”

“What,” Loghain scoffed, “with the flickering loyalty you've just exhibited?”

Zevran put on a hurt face complete with a pout. “I happen to be a very loyal person. Up until the point someone expects me to die for failing. Which... isn't a problem right? Unless you are into that, of course. In that case I don't really come well recommended, I suppose.” He laughed at that. It sounded a bit hysterical. I could get on that train with him, truth be told.

It took him a moment to calm his breath down. When he did and when he wiped the few tears out of his eyes, he blinked confusedly. “Why... is everyone looking at you?” he asked me slowly.

“You are looking at me, too.”

“Well, you are easy on the eye, I give you that. No, no, not another rock, please. I bruise easily. Like a peach, I am.”

“If you have to know, Zevran,” I smiled and dropped the pebble back into the dust of the road, “I am the Oracle. When it comes to certain decisions, I am looked upon for wisdom and guidance. Your case is one of them.”

“A horrible responsibility to have, really.” _Don't you say, murderboy._

I stood up. “I say we keep him.”

The rest of our journey to Denerim, where we were planning on stopping before heading to the Brecillian Forest to find the Dalish tribes, was spent mostly on figuring how to fit nine people into five tents when one of them barely fits into one tent, and one nobody wants to share the tent with. The most obvious solution that we tried first – having Zevran sleep in Loghain's tent, since he was his assassin and all that – backfired, as Loghain was not fine with cuddly sleepers. Alistair outright refused after that, and Zevran refused to share a tent with a mage, if we would excuse his paranoia. Leliana and I both didn't mind sharing a tent with Zevran, but three of us just didn't fit in – we tried that, I woke up with a foot in my mouth, and only by a miracle it was not my own how I was curled up.

Not to be completely unfair, I did try to sleep in tent with Oghren. I gave up after five minutes into it and slept outside where there was air suitable for breathing, relative silence, and rain. Upon that I was explained to me that I have a very youthful appearance for a spirit – I did try to argue that I was not a spirit, but it fell on deaf ears as always – and that the perceived age difference was going to ensure that Loghain was not going to do anything untoward were I to sleep in his tent until we get to Denerim where more tents can be obtained. Which by our plan would be in two days.

And that was how I ended up sharing a cramped sleeping space with someone on whom I had a hate-crush when I was eleven, nevermind that Dragon Age: Origins is a game not suitable for tweens, and extremely complicated feelings since being twenty-two which were mostly about braiding hair, drinking tea, and wrapping in blanket. I tried to play it cool, of course.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

I searched in my mind to what Loghain could be referring. Yes, we were in the tent, changing into sleeping clothes, with our backs turned against each other in order to offer ourselves a little privacy. Not that it mattered much, because it was so dark that I had no idea whether I was putting the tunic on inside out or not.

I had the luxury of changing into something else for sleep, because I was not going to hold night watch tonight. Between the nine of us, nothing to say of Wilde, we could afford to split the night watch schedule into odd and even days, and Alistair and I were each in a different watch group, as it was agreed that at least one Grey Warden should be vigilant in the night while the other gets to sleep. Tonight was Alistair's turn.

Still, I came out with nothing that would make me uncomfortable, so I said: “Invading your tent? Not unless I wake up with hair that is not mine in my face.”

“Sharing a tent with a traitor.”

 _Ah._ So this is what it was about. I should have expected that confrontation somewhat sooner. “I am not aware of you committing any treason. Sir,” I added the “sir” deliberately after a moment of thought.

“Then you aren't-” a pause as he pulled a shirt on over his head “-much of an Oracle.”

I concluded that we were both dressed again then, so I turned to him, my voice much sharper than I expected it to be when I practically hissed: “Do you want me to condemn you for something you nearly did? Would that help you? Would that help anyone? Would it? And by any of the gods you hold dear, keep your voice down, not everyone in the camp has to be aware.”  
He replied with silence, and if it wasn't for the breathing, I wouldn't be certain he was still there. We sat there like that for a good while before a realisation dawned onto me: “You regret it.”

“To take your words to heart: There is nothing to regret.” A very pregnant pause. Then Loghain added with a sigh: “But I am... glad that it was avoided. Do not misunderstand me; I am glad now. I was furious at first. I only had a long time to contemplate. I don't understand your stance, though.”

“I have a stance?”

“You are covering for me. As Duran Aeducan, almost everyone in this group submit to your judgement, and they believe you even more now when you are the Oracle, because you apparently know what to do. If you told them to hack me into pieces, they probably would. If you revealed to them what my actual plan at Ostagar was, you wouldn't even have to command them, I believe. And yet you... did not do that.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. “Well, I am quite certain that if I were to say that, Alistair would walk out on us because I knew all this all along and yet didn't murder you on day one. Secondly, it's useful to have you along. And I am not talking about you being a teyrn, I am talking about you as a person. You're keeping this party fed, I am just cooking. And I do believe you are a good person.”

“Good person? Really? With all that you know?”

Well, there was that bit with the Tevinter slavers which I couldn't really get over, but I've lied by omission until now, one more could not hurt, right? “To be entirely honest, I don't know if your decision to retreat from Ostagar was a bad one. I want to believe that if you charged down there, everyone would die. But the truth is that I don't know. I do know that you did it to win a war that did not exist. And... I am not surprised that you found that particular war with Orlais. Fear and sorrow both alike cast particularly convincing shadows. Before you ask how dare I, I speak from experience.” The experience was high school. Did it took me awfully long to learn that I could make friends. _I should have burned them all to the ground, the school included._ _Bastards, the lot of you._ _Choke on your own spit and step on Lego every day until the end of your days._

“You sound like a cliché hero rescuing the villain from death in some of those fancy storybooks,” Loghain chuckled. He wasn't wrong, my talk was somewhat inspired.

“Is it working?”

“It is.” A snicker escaped him. We began laughing after that, and I couldn't bring myself to stop even though my ribs and stomach hurt and tears were rolling down my face.

“Shut up there!” shouted Anders from across the camp. “People are trying to sleep here!” And when that made us laugh more, he threatened: “I'll throw fireball at you, I am not kidding! I'll- Mhpfff!”

I managed to calm my breathing down somewhat until the moment Loghain whispered to me: “Do you think Alistair stuffed sock in his mouth to silence him?”

“If he did, we better keep quiet. He might conclude it would work on us too, and I have seen what his socks look like.”

“Let's not risk it.”

That was my cue to burrow into my blanket and pretend I was asleep. I even managed to doze off for some hours, because when I stumbled out of the tent to relieve my stomach of more black sludge, the eastern sky was growing pale and instead of Sten and Wilde it was Zevran and Alistair who were sitting outside and watched over our peaceful sleep. I wished them a good morning and bolted for the nearest bushes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that "has complicated feelings about Loghain Mac Tir" has been successfully picked up by everyone at this point from the subtext, but it never hurts to point out that there is nothing romantic or gods help me sexual about those feelings.  
> Anyway. Denerim. So much to do in Denerim, right? Let's get to Denerim.


	18. Sweet Head, Pretty Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have looked forward to the stop in Denerim for quite the time, because it is a trouble-less spot of respite on our journey. Aren't we idiots for assuming?

I hadn't been in that many capital cities of the world, in fact just three: London, Prague, and Athenes. Now also Denerim, which actually reminded me of Prague a lot, except there weren't any trams, no asphalt, no glowing signs and no Vietnamese cornershops. The amount of horse- and dogshit was fitting, though, and the way the Market District was crowded and encircled by speeding carriages it could easily be the Old Town Square during the winter market period. Even the prices fitted! Ever since becoming a Grey Warden, this was when I felt at home the most, and it probably had to show.

Leliana was in religious awe and we all felt that she was this close practically begging Loghain to give us a tour. He promised her to show her the Birthing Rock, which did put her mind at ease somewhat and allowed her to focus on the Denerim fashion.

We were in the Market District to get a tent.

“Just one tent? Are you sure?” Alistair sounded a bit bitter about it.

“Morrigan and Wynne are not joining, but instead we have Anders and Teyrn Loghain. As far as I know, that is everyone. Shale, if we run into the opportunity to get her, will not fit into a tent. And I doubt she sleeps anyway.” I was of the opinion that we should retrieve Shale. Not only she was the nicest golem I've ever met, but she did deserve better than to be frozen in place where pigeons shat on her. Besides, she could meet Caridin. A Caridin who would not die twenty minutes later. It was something I thought would be... nice for her. I always thought of Shale as “she”.

“Alright. A tent. Anything else?”

“Socks for you,” I said.

Alistair puffed up: “What's wrong with my socks?”

“They are all eighty percent socks at best. That reminds me, some smalls for Zevran.”

“Hey now, how comes you mind?” Zevran turned to me too.

“Gentlemen, I remind you that I am the one who does the laundry. I refuse to pair socks by matching holes, and I am of the opinion that if you want laced lingerie, you should not obtain it by wearing the unmentionables down. We'll also want warmer blankets, it's going to be freezing in night, I am quite sure.”

“Tent, socks, unmentionables, warm blankets,” Alistair stopped arguing with my list.

“Arrows.”

“Arrows for Leliana,” Alistair echoed her.

It took us two hours to reach the Palace District and the royal palace itself, but at least it allowed for an elven messenger to make it across the city, tell the Queen Anora that her father with a ragtag band of helping hands were dropping by for the evening, and as such upon our arrival there were guest bedrooms prepared for us, and even several baths were drawn.

Bath. Warm bath. With scented soap. I revelled in that luxury, and I scrubbed and scrubbed until I smelled more like chamomile and lavender than blood, mud and nightmares. And then I brushed my clean hair, which finally slid apart easily, and after I untangled that mess I took a string and tied it into a ponytail as I was used to. Until now I had been pacifying my hair with a kerchief on my head which only drew my head back.

“Wow, finally I feel like a human being,” I said as I slipped back into the room I shared with Leliana and Zevran.

“Looking good,” the assassin told me, and the bard affectionately pinched my cheek. I began gathering to get my clothes and get dressed when a maidservant – a blonde elf whose hair did a big puff and whose sleeves were too long for her hands – knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an answer.  
“Teyrn Loghain demands your presence in the Queen's rooms. Although,” he added when he noticed the way I was clutching the towel in a pretence of saving my dignity, “he probably can wait a minute or two. But it is urgent.”

As such I made my way barefoot, and was fumbling with the lacing of the bodice as we were led through the winding stone corridors. We ended up in what had to be Anora's bedroom. I deduced so because there was a bed. The only people who came later were Sten and Oghren (who got lost on the way, thrice), besides that everyone was already present.

Anders was kneeling by the bedside, pale and worried. A step behind him stood Loghain whose face clearly said that he was about to murder someone. Next to him then Alistair with the expression of a man who'd much prefer this not to be consider his problem, because what were we thinking he would do?

On the bed laid Anora. The last time I had played Origins her model bugged and she did not have a head. The unnaturally grey shade of her skin made me wish that she had glitched out in real life like that too, because it was disturbing to watch.

“She had been poisoned,” Loghain said as a greeting and explanation. I did not see that one coming. _Ah shit, oh fuck, hell no._

“We can see that,” Zevran mumbled. That was a mistake, because Loghain considered him the man of the hour.

“Give her the antidote.”

Zevran blinked, as if the request was the most stupid thing he had heard today. Given that what he heard today included launching dragon eggs from a trebutchet, that was quite the feat. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, which made him look like a fish out of water, and then he gathered himself enough to say: “Even if I had the antidote – I don't usually carry antidotes with me, just so you know – I don't even know what she has been poisoned with. Giving her the incorrect antidote could kill her.”

“What do you mean you don't know what poison was given to her?” Loghain sounded like he was this close to slipping into hysteria. “Aren't you a master assassin:”

“That I am,” Zevran agreed, “but do you know how many poisons have ‘death’ as a symptom of poisoning?”

Anders sighed and his shoulders shuddered. After a moment he managed to shakily say: “I am doing everything I can so she does not die. This… is the best I can manage. Whatever is in her blood, it is strong. She needs a miracle.”

Loghain turned to me and I took a step back because in that moment I was certain he was going to hit me. He looked like he would. He didn’t, though. Whether it was never his intention or because I hid behind Sten, that I wasn’t sure. “Why didn’t you tell me? You knew!”

“I didn’t!” I defended myself meekly. “I swear I didn’t. In my version, Howe held Anora hostage, but he did not poison her. I had no idea this could happen.” I drew in a breath and added: “I don’t even know if this is Howe’s doing.”

“Arl Howe has had an audience with the Queen before you arrived,” spoke a woman. She was a touch taller than I, dark of hair, with French-ish accent. I recognised the elf as Anora’s handmaiden, but I could not find a name to her. Alice came to mind, but I was certain it was wrong. I was pretty spooked that I hadn’t noticed her before, but I supposed that it was a part of her job description.

Loghain had no problem identifying her: “That is not a proof, Erlina. But it has been noted.”

“They discussed Denerim matters, I was asked to bring them tea. The Queen could be poisoned that way, yes?”

Zevran pursed his lips and nodded: “Bitter tea is a good way to conceal the taste of poison, that is true. Hmmm…” Then his face brightened and he added: “Lovely lady, can you take me to the kitchen? If we have any luck, there is still some of the tea left. I want to… have a taste.”

Alistair watched them leave and then cleared his throat: “We should probably leave her. Besides Anders none of us can really help the Queen.”

“My daughter-”

“Sir, yes, your daughter is in danger. But you can’t do anything right now, and feeling terribly while watching over her is not helping you either.” Alistair took Loghain around the shoulders and practically pushed him out of the room.  
I was the last one to leave, because I approached Anders, still kneeling by the bedside, eyes closed and hands clasped as if he was praying. I felt the energy tingle in the air, but I had no idea what it took from him to keep Anora alive.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Anders shook his head. After a moment he said: “Water. If you find lyrium potions, those too.” He flashed a tired smile and I took it as my cue to get moving. I didn’t find any lyrium potions, but I made sure he’d get a pitcher of cool and clean water. Emphasis on the clean.

After that another of the servants navigated me to the library. I was surprised how many elves worked here, but good for them to have a job at least, I supposed. In the library was a seating area where I found our group minus Anders, who was still with Anora, Sten, who decided to hold guard in front of the Queen's chambers, Zevran, who was still in the kitchen apparently, and Wilde, who was not allowed into the library because he was a dog.

I sat down on a sofa. Much to my surprise, Oghren put his arm, a very heavy arm at that, around my shoulder. He looked sober for once. “Makes me feel like I never left Orzammar. Only the ceilings are lower, hm.”

I did not know how to answer that, so I didn't. Neither did anyone else.

“Perhaps we should inform the Guilds' Council,” Loghain sighed finally. “It's Tuesday. In Cailan's absence, it's the Queen who oversees their meeting in the Landsmeet Chamber.”

“Perhaps we won't have to,” Alistair smiled and nodded towards the door which had just opened and let Zevran enter through them with a smug smile, followed by Erlise the Handmaiden.

“Have you learned anything?” I asked immediately. We had been postponing lunch because of this and I had been positively famished. _Hunger leads to anger, anger leads to destruction. Destruction is absolution._

He nodded: “I bring news. The good is that I had indeed identified the poison. In Antiva we lovingly call it dolcetesta, but I believe to you it might be known as amarnika.” His smile faded as he looked us over, concluding that we have no idea what he was talking about. “A drop makes for easy sleeping, spoonful makes your mind like jelly, and a cup makes you asleep forever. It is a draught of five herbs, and it has a very specific taste. But I suppose the pretty Queen did not taste it in her black wormwood tea.”

“Sound just like shady moonshine to me,” Oghren mumbled.

“Ha,” Zevran chuckled, “I'll have to introduce absinthe to you. Do remind me that when we get to a respectable establishment. Anyway, pleasure aside, I asked lovable Erlina, oh sweet Erlina, a couple of questions. She brought the teapot and the cups, but then she left the room. There were no servants, so the arl and the Queen had to pour the tea themselves. The rest of the tea in the pot did not have poison in it, and I could taste poison only on the cup which had a lipstick stain. Is arl Howe one for lipsticks?”

Loghain frowned: “I think he has mentioned he uses rabbit fat to ease his wrinkles, but no lipstick as far as I know. And I used to see him fairly often.”

Leliana from her study of the dusty bookshelf behind me: “The rabbit fat doesn't work by the way. Neither does sleeping with cucumber slices on your face. Though that is good if you are particular to zits.”

The teyrn threw his hands into the air. “I wouldn't know anything about that,” he grumbled, “I do not partake in these frivolties. But I shouldn't expect less than a sermon from a woman who comes from a land where even men paint their faces like-”

Leliana's head popped right behind me, which scared me so much that I nearly fell off the sofa. I landed only on Oghren, which was the worse option, I thought. Nevertheless, the bard said: “Oh, but you dye your hair. I saw you. You can't say that you don't.”

“That has nothing to-”

“Amarnika,” Alistair interrupted the banter. “If everyone could focus for five minutes, please. Zevran, go on. We know the poison, does it help us?”

The assassin shrugged: “There is no known antidote. The condition does get better over time, but given that the Queen consumed enough that her heart no longer beats without the help of magic, it would take years, maybe a decade before she could wake up. Not to underestimate our mage fellow, but it seems unlikely he'll be able to keep vigil over her for so long.”

“Anders, or another healer like him, has to be with her at all times,” Leliana said, and I could almost see the gears in her head rapidly turning. “And she cannot stay here. A poisoner who uses amarnika to kill will most likely return to finish what he started.”

Loghain nodded and confirmed the budding idea: “We will take Anora to Ostagar with us. Officially to visit the King in his encampment and to morally support the troops, of course. She had been voicing those intentions in letters already, but Cailan always refused. It seems that the Teyrn of Gwaren cannot refuse his daughter, though. Besides, she will be surrounded by Grey Wardens there. No other place where she would be safer.”

“Please tell me,” I whined still sprawled over Oghren as I had fallen there, “that we are not doing the Holy Dustbin expedition.”

Everyone looked at me. After a moment Alistair asked: “What?”

Of course we had to do it. There was no antidote for amarnika, and Anders had to be free to go to Kirkwall, he couldn't play life support for ten years or longer. So I sat up properly and said: “I mean the Urn of Andraste's Ashes. Those ashes should be able to cure any ailment. I know where the urn is and how to get it. It is just a royal pain in the behind to get there, and there is the Blight pressing on us, and I really, really hoped that this time around we wouldn't have to go there. It is in this small mountain-hidden village called Haven, or rather in the temple in the mountain at which base the village is.”

“I will do everything to see Anora safe,” Loghain said plainly.

“I don't doubt that. I am just complaining that the ‘everything’ we have to do includes this particular road trip. But yes, let's do it.”

Leliana gave us a smile which had a couple of blades hidden in it: “We still have to figure out what to do right now. I suggest we pretend everything is alright. Avoid the chaos which would give Arl Howe undoubtedly power over the situation.”

“Anora has to make an appearance at the Guilds' Council,” Alistair reminded her.

“That is not a problem, no? Let her decoy work it.” Awkward silence. Then Leliana asked, her voice very tired: “She does not have a decoy, does she? Someone who could look like her when needed to step in when the situation would be too dangerous for the real Queen?”

“That,” Loghain began carefully, “might be common in Orlais, but it definitely is not a thing here.”

“Excellent. Then no one will suspect anything. We only need to find the decoy person, and quickly. A woman vaguely of the Queen's age and figure. With make-up I can certainly cover up most of the differences, especially if Erlise helps me.”

Erlise looked at me from the corner where she had been unassumingly standing, and I saw a glint in her eyes. She smiled: “Of course, miss. Time is of the essence, no? And this is necessary to perform. Everyone has to help.”

“I really miss my beard,” I mumbled and let myself fall like a rag doll to demonstrate how utterly done I was with this crap. I landed on Oghren, again.


	19. Dress Makes a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anora's wardrobe goes for a journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: What do you do when at every scene set there are too many characters talking and it either gets confusing or unnatural?

I stumbled back into Anora's dressing room only half aware where I was. Erlise had been navigating me ever since I stepped out of the Landsmeet Chamber, because in that moment a wave of relief washed over me and swept me off my feet, almost literally.

I had been pretending to be Queen Anora for the entirety of the afternoon. The good part was that it only required to sit decoratively in layers of fancy dress and make-up with my back straight and both of my feet on the ground. I hated every single second and was glad it was over. Thanks the Maker I did not have to give a speech or talk whatsoever.

“You carried yourself very regally,” Erlise tried to cheer me up as she helped me out of the garments. “And your face, it was perfect, yes? You really imitated the Queen's bored scowl very well.”

Until that moment I had no idea I had been doing that, but then gain, I had been incredibly bored, and without squinting I couldn't really see much of what had been happening. That reminded me...

“Erlise, do you know where in the city is an oculist? Anyone who would be making reading glasses, binocular and spyglasses?” I turned to the handmaiden once the corsetery was off me and I could comfortably bend over and take the shoes off. They were too big for me, and had a raised heel. It reminded me of my dancing classes.

She nodded. “I can give you a few addresses which are reliable and have supplied the Palace for years. Are you going there straight away?”

“Yes,” I confirmed to her. I was weary, but I wanted to get glasses for myself if it was possible. “I suspect we will leave early tomorrow, and I want to know if there is at least a glimmer of hope an oculist here would have or be able to make what I need.”

“Of course, my lady. I shall inform the teyrn and the rest of his company. We shall expect you for dinner which will be served here after the sun sets.”

“Thank you,” I smiled and meant it. “You're a priceless assistant.”

Erlise fluttered at the flattery and proceeded to supply me with three addresses in Denerim where the craftsmen worked with looking-glasses and lenses. I had to write them down not to forget, but given how low in the sky the sun was, I probably had the time to check out only one of the places. I settled for the Eye Of Sky which was in the Market District Square and I knew where that was and didn't have to spend long time looking for it.

The sign which hanged above the entrance of the shop looked like a cover of The Great Gatsby, and as such it did not surprise me when inside I was greeted by a dwarf.

“And here I thought I wouldn’t see a leg in here today,” he chortled and waved me in. “What can I do for you, my lady?”

I realised that I while I had taken off the corset and the outer layers, I did into change back into my clothes, and thus I was wearing fine embroidered brocade. I hoped Anora was not going to mind. And I still had her face painted over mine. And had my hair powdered to appear bloder, and still done in the two buns. Nevertheless I rolled with it: “I need a specific pair of glasses done, and as I am unfamiliar with Denerim, I am searching for craftsman who would be capable of constructing what I need.”

The man stroke his beard. “That depends on what you need, of course. Nuhbic Cadash is the master of his art, but also my art is very specific.”

“I need glasses made,” I explained.

There was a glint in his eye: “Then certainly you came to the right place. Are you far-sighted or near-sighted? I presume the glasses are for you.”

Oh, he was the person I need. “Near-sighted,” I replied with a smile.

“Alright, so if you’d step on that blue tile on the floor there, yes, like so. Cover your left eye, and read me the letters you are looking at.” Nuhbic made his way over to the wall on which a couple of canvases with precariously constructed letters hung.

“E. W. A squid?”

“That’s the rune Bha,” he nodded. “Looks a bit like squid, yeah. Most people says ‘udder’, though.” But he chuckled, because I obviously wasn’t a farmer to him. I was a useless half-blind noblewoman whose father or husband hopefully had money.

Nevertheless, he measured my eyes, then had me look at the letters with testing lenses, and all in all in was the most homely experience I had in Thedas, except he was shorter than my old optometrist.

But time was pressing on me and I had to go. I had a dinner to attend, and I was quite hungry, so I didn’t want to miss it. Besides, I didn’t have to cook, which was a luxury I seldom experienced nowadays. And so I said: “Thank you for your time, you truly are the master of the craft. I shall talk this expense over with my-”

“Sure enough, my lady. I will be right here when you are decided. You’d have a hard time searching for better prices and better quality. I could have your commission ready in three days once you confirm, of course.”

I thanked him and saw myself out. I did feel guilty as always when I took a shopkeeper’s time and didn’t buy anything, but then again I had the intentions of getting my glasses from him. Once I got paid. _Grey Wardens do get paid, right?_ I hoped so.

“My lady, there you are!”

I turned around and saw a scrawny elf, old enough not to be called a kid, but only barely. She had a mop mouse hair on the top, and a smile. At least somebody was happy to see me, even though she was just a little morsel.

“I was sent for you from the palace,” she said as a way of explanation. “Everyone’s been looking for you. I am supposed to bring you back.”

“Did they really think I would miss out on dinner? Oh well, I should be glad they care enough. Let’s go then,” I smoothened my borrowed dress and followed the elf maid-messenger.

She obviously knew a shortcut to the Palace District because after crossing the bridge she led me into less crowded back alleys. I had an uneasy feeling about going through there, but I would have a hard time finding a woman who would not have an uneasy feeling about it. I looked around often and had my fists clenched. My only regret, though, was that Anora’s dress did not have a pocket with a knife.

However, the trouble was not lurking behind me, but rather waiting ahead. Three armoured figures blocked our way. One of them, low and manly voice with breath of sour cabbage and stale beer, proclaimed: “You are to come with us, by the order of the Arl of Denerim. You, elf, did your job. Get lost.”

Maiden elf scuttled away, but my exit was blocked by another man in armour. I felt extremely betrayed. Two against three could have been won, two against four by a stretch too. One me against four armed? Nope.

“Not bloody likely,” I hissed and shifted my weight a bit. I was not going to go without a fight. Perhaps I could delay whatever they were planning with me and somebody would come to help. Perhaps. Most likely not, but I was willing to give it a try, where by “it” I meant “the spokesman’s head” and by “try” I meant “kick”.

Nobody was more surprised when the blow connected than me. The leapt at me. I noticed very quickly that while they didn’t care about giving me a couple of bruises, they were actively trying not to harm me. No swords or daggers were drawn. However, I was quickly knocked out when somebody put a knew to the back of my head. I probably snuffed out like a candle.

When I came to, I was first of all greeted by a headache that was extremely familiar. _Long time no see._ I opened my eyes carefully to see where I was, but I didn’t see much, because it was dark. From all around me was heavy curtain of some unidentified colour which did not allow for much light to enter. I could make the outline of my feet, but that was about it.

Under my hands I felt rough wooden boards nailed together, and also a metal bars on which I had been laying. It quickly turned out that I had my hands cuffed behind my back. _Great, just great._ And by the rickety movement which threw me from side to side and the creaking of wood, and clapping noises from somewhere in front of me, I dared to guess that I am in a cage and that cage is covered by a woollen blanket, that all is hauled onto a cart which is going somewhere.

For a moment I entertained the thought that I was hauled to Tevinter as a slave. But that would be a space inefficient delivery, and besides, wouldn’t it be better to use a ship for that?

My head ached, and that made more thinking difficult. Even this took me far too damn long to get together. With a groan I rolled over until I found a position that was differently uncomfortable, and after a lengthy while sleep came to me. Predictably I had nightmares.

I woke up the second time, far more furious and drenched in cold water. The man holding the bucket was lucky there were iron bars between him and I, because otherwise he’d get far worse than a couple of general insults thrown his way.

“That’s not a language appropriate for a young lady.”

I pushed the hair out of my face as much as I could with my shoulders, because I couldn’t bring mu hands to my face, given that they were still in handcuffs. That way I could see something, and therefore I could give that man a glare.

He was unhealthily pale, had long brown hair which could use being washed more often, and was sporting a brave attempt at a goatee. He also looked like a pompous ass. A familiar pompous ass.

“I expected something… well, greater,” he said. “But looks are deceiving. You must be something really special if father called me all the way from the Free Marches to babysit you.”

A name surfaced in my thoughts: “Piss off, Nate.”

“That,” Nathanial crossed his arms in pretended benevolent patience, “is no way to address the son of an Arl.”

I made myself more comfortable on my heap of straw and hoped for lack of fleas and lice. My ridiculous scrubbing schedule kept me parasite-free so far, I'd hate for that to change. Something furry brushed against my hand – a rat. I did not freak out, because I was busy being snarky: “It is when the arl is a traitor to the country, massacring major noble houses without a cause, poisoning his queen and conspiring against the king. And now he sends his son to get his hands dirty. Ooooooh, I get.” I grinned. Because in that moment I truly believed I saw right through Rendon Howe, just like through a window. “You're the sacrificial scapegoat. That's nice.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “So much for the talk of you being an oracle, then. Teyrn Loghain listens to the ravings of a madwoman. My father does this country a service by hosting you here. And yet, I have to be the one to watch over you. I might return later. For now you just disgust me.”

He twirled a key on a large ring around his finger, and turned around to leave. I shouted at him just as he was opening the door out: “When we see each other from the other side of the bars, don't act like I didn't tell you so!”

After that was only loneliness and hunger pangs. I missed out on dinner, and most likely also the next day breakfast and lunch. And I wasn't really sure about the food service in here, truth be told. I could always bite off the fingers of whoever came too close.

Also I needed to get out of there. If Howe didn't want me dead, he would either quickly change his mind or I would rather not take a part of whatever he had planned for me. I had to start with the handcuffs, but that was pretty easy. The shackles were quite loose around my wrists, because whoever made them did not account for my wrists and hands being so thin. I pressed my thumb into my palm, pulled my fingers together, and with a bit of force and a couple of scratches my left hand slipped right out. The right one I got free even more easily, because I could bring my hands to my chest where I could see them.

Then there were the prison bars. They did not look like they'd budge if I tried to bend them, and I had no way of tearing them out. I checked the door. Yup, locked with a padlock. I shook them in frustration. And then – and this was absolutely genius on my side – I checked the hinges. The hinges were missing the top cap.

The principle of my escape was quite easy: I took the door and lifted from the bottom up to dislocate it, then it opened around the padlock, so to the other side actually. Easier said than done, because the door was cast iron, and therefore particularly heavy. Nevertheless I was out, and even put the door back, which took me way more time than it should. It looked as if I was never there, though, which was the point.  
The door was probably guarded, so I climbed a crate and rolled out of the out of the tiny window, and then hid my manacles behind a geranium pot. I made myself look somewhat proper, which was hard due to the courtesy of the heavily falling rain, but at least nobody would think it strange that I was wet head to toe, as they weren't going to be any better.

For the first time I had a moment to look around. I quickly identified the place as the Vigil's Keep. Ironically enough I had just crawled out of the cellar where the Warden-Commander is supposed to meet Nathaniel for the first time. That was good, because I at least knew where I was. But I didn't know of any escape route, so I had to pass the guards at the gate, and I wasn't sure how much were they aware of me.

But I pilfered a forgotten basket with bundles of stale bread wrapped in kerchiefs in it. Somebody was going to miss those dearly, but there was a life at stake, hopefully they'd understand. As the life at stake was mine, though, I didn't concern myself that much with the morality of the act.

With my hair let loose, the dress dirty beyond any recognition, basket under my arm, and face of a woman who has a job to do I walked through the gate and down the hill, and nobody even moved to stop me. Once Vigil's Keep was out of sigh, I changed my pace and ran for the woods, where they would have a much harder time searching for me.

_What I am trying to say here is: “Sorry, Anora, I totally ruined your fancy dress.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A: You put the characters away.


	20. First and Last (and Always)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How far am I willing to run so that Howe's men won't catch me?

There is a vast difference between travelling through forest paths alone, and doing so with a group of reluctant friends out of whom at least one has a map and knows where we are going. As I was on my own, I wasn't so much geographically confused, as much as I was totally lost.

As far as my geographical knowledge went, I was of the conviction that I was somewhere in the Wending Woods, but I had yet to run into anything that would confirm it for me. Things would have been easier if my tramping knowledge was less theoretical and didn't have it so heavily relying on the fact that whomever was going to use the knowledge was also going to have a sharp knife.

I usually carried a knife around back... back home, and since I came to Thedas I was practically never unarmed. Unless I had been pretending to be the Queen for one afternoon and got myself kidnapped promptly afterwards. Even if I had had a knife, I was fairly certain it would had been confiscated.

I knew I needed to go south-east to catch up on the Imperial Highway and possibly meet with the rest of my group. I wasn't giving myself any illusions that they were waiting for me in Denerim, I had told them practically everything useful, and they had places to be and Dalish elves to find. If I was lucky I'd catch up with them on their way to Ostagar. If not... well, I would have to make it to the King's camp on my own and explain myself to Duncan. It better be a damn good explanation.

In theory that was a solid plan, definitely more solid than the rain-soaked ground I was walking on, or rather wading through. It fell short on the fact that unless the sun was setting or rising I did not know where east wast. Or south for that matter. I didn't know what time it was either. Scouts and hikers alike are often taught that moss and lichen grows on the north-facing side of the tree. Scouts also often quickly note that it's bullshit and does not work. Apparently it was the same case in Thedas, because I had stumbled upon several trees the lichen of which tried to convince me I was at the south pole.

At least there was something good about the rain: the stale bread in the basket I stole – borrowed, I borrowed it with the knowledge the return will not be possible – has soaked up the water and was now soggy. Therefore disgusting, but edible. I wolfed down half of it, which meant quarter of the whole loaf. It gave me a horrible tummy-ache later, but I was dedicated to keep the food down and proceed.

It was getting dark. At least the sun going down behind me assured me that I was walking in the vaguely correct direction. I had to hit the highway sooner or later. Or at least the Pilgrim's Path or something. It as going to be find, I just had to find a shelter for the night where Nathaniel and his goons wouldn't find him.

The next step I took I tripped over something thorny over the ground and landed face-first into the mud. Needless to say the dress was beyond saving at that point. The shoes which I had inherited from Alim, though, were still dry and warm on the inside, which was a blessing from heaven.

I looked up to curse at any god willing to listen. Before I could open my mouth, though, I noticed a noticeboard. It was too far away for me to read it, so I picked myself up an tumbled over to give it a look.

“Warning. Blackmarsh is haunted!” it read.

I looked further, but through the rain and mud it didn't seem that different than what I just came out of. Yes, sure, the Baroness, thin Veil et cetera. Bot for me to consider there were also abandoned houses some of which surely had a roof, the reputation of the place which would hopefully keep anyone looking for me out, and the potential loot in this place, such as a knife or an old sleeping mat. Not sure what the nobrainer was here, whether me or the decision. Nevertheless I gathered myself and ventured forth.

I remembered the fact that the remains of the village were supposedly overrun by blight wolves and werewolves a bit late. Then I realised that they were there only because the intelligent darkspawn, and those weren't going to be troubling Amaranthine until the Blight is over, so I was probably safe. I had to watch out for giant spiders and leeches and whatever escaped the Veil here.

The air shivered above the ground like in hot summer above an asphalt road. But it wasn't nearly anywhere hot enough. The rain stopped, or rather it did not reach here. It rained a couple of steps behind me, it did rain above me, but then there the rain suddenly ended, as if being swallowed by an invisible hole stretching above me. Fine with me, at lest I wouldn't get any wetter.

I walked into the dead village and ignored the ominous signs of demon mass kidnapping. The place slightly smelled of sulphur and acid. Not even a cricket buzzing. Also fine with me, I slept best in silence. Though I was going to miss Alistairs hum-snoring and Leliana's cute sneezing which shook her whole body, and Loghain's incoherent sleep talking. And sure as hell I was missing Wilde trying to poke his nose in my butt when I am inevitably going to wake up in the middle of the night to throw up black tainted sludge. _Oh Wilde, where is your coarse fur and your lovingly brought licked shiny stones? Where is Sten's disapproving look which disappears the moment I call him for dinner? Where are Oghren's lewd jokes which miss the point and setup? Where is Zevran calling everyone his “adjective friend”?_

In a house that hadn't completely come down I managed to find a cot which could hold my weight. The mattress had rotten away, but there was a blanket in the trunk which was only frowzy and covered in dried mildew on the edges. After I dusted that off it was good for use, and the cot was above the ground, so I tried to make myself comfortable. I tucked myself in for the night and tried to ignore the horrible sense of loneliness that was wrapped around me tighter than the blanket.

When I closed my eyes and let my mind drift and wander, I could hear the flapping of the tent canvas in the light breeze and Leliana's curly voice telling an anecdote just outside at the camp fire to whomever else was staying up late. However, whenever I tried to focus on the words, it all fluttered apart and a way just like smoke when you try to touch it, the hand meeting only the mirror reflecting my desire to be rid of this involuntary solitude.

It took me forever to fall asleep.

Close.

I woke up probably more tired than I went to sleep, and more importantly filled with the certainty of an ambush. The presence of it was loud and noisy, rhythmic like a frantic heartbeat before the heart attack, discordance in the harmony.

A solitary darkspawn.

On the bright side I did not wake up to loose my flimsy dinner. On the bad side I was unarmed and about to face the force of wanton destruction desiring to devour me. Hopefully. I could also be kidnapped and turned into a broodmother, which was not something I wanted to add on my list of experiences. Becoming a golem and dying was far more than enough if you asked me, which you didn't.

In the corner of the fallen house I found a rusty sickle. _Better than nothing, I guess._ Armed this inadequately I walked outside to face my fate.

The hurlock there sure enough looked like it was waiting for me. It was also looking a bit neater than the rest of the darkspawn I had ran into so far, as if it put thought into the rags and scraps of armour it decided to wear. It was holding a sword which it twirled impatiently.

“The Mother said you would be here,” it lisped. _Not it, he,_ I corrected myself. “The Forgemaster, the breaker of given order. You blinded her. You have to pay for it.”

I hesitated. “You... you are the First, aren't you?”

“Correct. And you are to die.” With that he lunged at me.

I knew the move before he even made it. I leapt to side and then ran past him and out of the village, further into the marsh. If it was a mindless darkspawn I had a chance to outsmart it. In this case, though, I had to use to my advantage that he was armoured and heavy while I was fairly lightweight. We were in marshes full of deceiving paths and muddy water. I had to drown him. Or better, let him drown himself.

Hands down, I was grateful in that moment to be a Grey Warden, because if it wasn’t for that boost to my endurance, I would had been sliced like a toast bread in forty seconds. As it was, I could sprint for a solid minute before I was out of breath and my legs threatened to come off, so I slowed down.

The First was somewhere behind me, getting closer as I was slowing down. I couldn’t see him through the patches of tall rotting grass, but I felt him, like a flesh wound on my mind. I didn’t stop for a breather, but switched to an almost comfortable jog.

My dad was seriously into jogging, sister had been for a while. Now I wished I had joined them at least once. I had always been more of a walker, though. I could walk and walk and walk for hours. When I couldn’t run through the marches, I walked, sometimes waded through the mud, and I knew I could do this all day. But the talking hurlock was catching up with me, even though I lured him quite deep into the march.

And then I reached a dead end, a slippery cliff with a shed that had fallen apart. There had once been ladder down the cliff to the beach where was a pair of rotting boats. One of the legs of the ladder was still standing there with a couple of the steps still holding on it. In theory I could try to slide it down, but even my emotional state was more stable than that. _I would rather chance it with the First, thanks._

Though the moment I saw him again, I wished I decided to chance the pole. Or at least didn’t drag him across deep mud pools and steep jagged rocks, because he didn’t look it put him in a better mood. In fact, he looked quite angry. The greatest indication of that was that he hissed: “You… woman. You toy with me. That will be the last of your mistakes.”

His lisp wasn’t even funny at that point, not that it had ever been. It was even less funny when he swung his sword in an attempt to behead me. I dodged and rolled away on the slippery stones. I landed in a crouched position and made a clawing motion with my trusty rusty sickle, and even added an angry hiss to made it known that I wasn’t going to go without a fight.

I was stalling, though. I was hoping for the Mother’s intervention to send us through the Fade. It had happened before. We would cross the Veil, so thin and fragile here, any second now.

The First hunched and began circling me. I made a couple of steps to the side as a response. Duelling is a waiting game, that was one of the few things I knew. The rapid pace of swords clinking together, that is a thing for movies, because it looks good, but in reality it is usually two people walking around each other, waiting for an advantageous position or a lapse in concentration of their opponent. I wasn’t a good LARPer when it came to fighting, but I knew the theory.

Apparently I got carried away by my train of thoughts, because the First decided this would be a good moment to swing his sword at me again. I ducked and stepped forward to get behind him. I slid the tip of the sickle across his thigh as an afterthought, and got hit by the pommel of his sword in my right shoulder. He was probably aiming for my head, but I had my back straight for once.

_Mother, this would be a good time to interfere. Where is my Fade express?_

“Dammit,” I cursed out loud and spun around on my heel. The shoulder hurt quite a lot. The First snarled and we were back to the circling each other. The air shimmered and shivered. I could feel it, the Fade was just a bit to the left right behind my eyes. We were supposed to be there, all we needed was a little push.

I lost my patience and jumped at the hurlock. He put his arm in my way, to which I clung. I bit him in the face, which was the only part of him uncovered enough for me to actually do any harm to like that. Conclusion: Hurlocks taste awfully.

He threw me back with ease. I landed on the edge of the cliff, head and half of my shoulders in the air.

“It ends here, Warden,” he informed me and approached. I tried to sit up, but my hand slipped on the wet stone and I cut my forearm instead. Just as the First brought his sword down I managed to raise the sickle and parry.

Crack!

The world flipped around me inside out with such a surge of pain through my pain that everything went red and than black, and then somewhat darker than that with tin-ozone taste on the edges with a hint of burning tongue.

When I opened my eyes again, I was hanging upside down in the air. For some reason the skirt of my dress was not bothered by it and tickled me around the ankles. Below me, or above me, depending on the point of view, was the handle and broken blade of the sickle. It simply snapped in two. Better it than my neck.

I reached my hands towards the ground, took a hold of a lonely sprout, and pulled myself towards the ground. Once I was close enough, I put my feet on the solid stone, and raised myself into the upright standing position.

There was no sign of the First. There was empty space between the sky and the horizon, though, and everything seemed to be a bit off to the left and pretending very hard to be real things. The upside, down boat hanging in the air just past the cliff was fooling absolutely nobody.

“I have a theory, correct me if I am wrong,” I said out loud even though there was nobody as far as I could see who would hear me. “Because I was absolutely certain that I was going to cross into the Fade in a place where the Veil is very thin, and because the Fade is shaped by thoughts and memories, I did actually cross into the Fade, right?”

“It was more the memory of you crossing to this place, but otherwise you are correct,” said a set of armour which was standing nearby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [First And Last And Always by Sisters of Mercy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fBLbCuzogY)


	21. Oracle in Fadeland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to get out of the Fade. Good thing I've done this before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: A guy (almost) burns to death here.

I made a show of dusting myself off, but it wasn't fooling anyone, least of all me. I could not avoid the nagging feeling that the armour was staring at me and was extremely judgemental of my whole person. The helmet even tilted to side and the whole translucent metal set took a step towards me. I put on my brave face and did not take a step back.

“Curious,” it said. “You are not deceased and you are not asleep, yet you are no mage.”

“That is a relief,” I smiled. “I would hate to die again. It's a hassle. Pray tell, you wouldn't happen to know how do I get back to the material world, would you?”

“As a spirit I have no interest in transferring into the world of mortals.”

“Too bad. I have business there to conclude. I have a couple of historical events I've left hanging there, so if you excuse me, I have to be going.”

The armour hesitated for a moment: “Is your cause one of justice?”

I contemplated it for a moment, and then concluded: “It is more of a self-imposed duty if I have to be honest. But it wouldn't be fair to the people there, to leave them alone in the mess I started. I could probably live with myself if I did, but I certainly would not sleep easily.”

And for once I was being entirely honest. Not because I really enjoyed the truth, but because I've just recognised the Spirit of Justice, and it felt like lying to it would have unpleasant consequences. Was this Justice my Justice? The Justice I learned to admire as a walking pixelated corpse? There probably were many Justices out there...

“Then it is my obligation to help your cause,” the spirit said. “In this section of the Fade dwells a demon powerful enough perhaps not to hunger for your life. Demons take a great interest in the mortals. I could aid you to seek its knowledge of trespassing from the Fade to your realm.”

I did not correct him that I wasn't planning on going back to my realm, but back to Thedas instead. I had always thought about Justice as of a male. It was because of the bodies, though, of that I was sure, because the concept of Justice seems... quite feminine to me, truth be told.

“This demon you speak of, it wouldn't happen to be a pride demon which possessed an Orlesian noblewoman who took to blood magic and transferred a whole village in here, would it?”

Justice was obviously impressed, which impressed me in turn, that I could tell that a faceless set of dream-plate armour was impressed. He said: “I apologise to you. I presumed you were ignorant, but I now see you are well informed of the circumstances of this corner of the Fade.”

“And you, a manifestation of Justice, have not done anything about it yet?”

“The fate of the people is not mine to decide.”

“So you leave them to be tormented and drained by a demon?”

Justice did not answer. Either I offended him or gave him an internal crisis, because his armour shattered and disappeared. _Whoops?_

“Well, I suppose I'll have to trick the demon into sending everyone into the mortal world by myself, then,” I sighed. “Nice talk, Justice.” I turned around to head in the general direction of the manor and village.

Bonk!

That was the sound my forehead made when it hit dream-made chestplate which was not hollow on the inside, but only because its wearer had only a vague idea of what could be filling it. From this it is easy to surmise that at least in the Fade Justice was taller than I.

“Trickery?. Deception?. What is your intent, mortal?” His voice carried through the shimmering air.

I tilted my head. What exactly was my plan? “I intend to be extremely annoying until she releases all souls from her bindings and into the material world. Should she cross the Veil herself and threaten to harm the world of the living and upset its balance, I will have to send her back to the Fade through the means of violence..”

There was a long silence. Then Justice slowly nodded: “You will need help applying physical force. .I shall be that help.”

 _Give him three years among humans and he'll make a wittier comeback, don't worry._ I smiled at him, because I was happy to make a colleague. A friend, maybe? I was nothing but a short girl who was pushing forward out of spite and obligation, I was in a serious need of friends. Especially since I lost all of them recently in the tragic circumstances of allowing myself to be kidnapped. I really had to be such a disappointment to them... I didn't have the time to wallow in self-pity, as comfortable as it was, though. I had to get out of the Fade.

Close.

We proceeded to the village, me trailing after Justice. Instead of entering through through the barred and locked main gate or through the crypts, he simply kicked a part of wall out of existence and walked in as if he owned the place. Or rather as if he belonged to the place. A lot of Justice was due here.

“Who- What are you? Maker preserve me!” shrieked a woman who walked on us from behind a corner.

Justice politely informed her of who he was, that he was here to dispose of the Baroness, and that the whole village and the people here were in the Fade, and that unfortunately all the villagers had died long time ago, her included, and the demon in the guise of their feudal tyrant had refused to let them go, which is injustice that could not be suffered any longer.

By the time he was finishing the speech he had attracted quite the crowd which was getting slightly transparent as the people were realising that they indeed had been dead. A couple of men retreated only to return to hand out weapons. They weren't exactly weapons, they were farming tools. You know, heavy and sharp pieces of metal usually attached to a long handle which these people could handle.

I was handed a sickle, its handle felt familiar in my hand. This one was not rusty, though, it was sharp and well cared for. It was also significantly lighter in my hand, which I appreciated. I was glad enough to let slide the fact that I had been mistaken for one of them.

A girl with twin braids whose cheeks just shouted “milkmaid” asked: “But Ser Justice, valiant knight and protector, how do we even fight a demon?”

I answered instead of Justice who seemed to be taken aback by the question: “You punch them until it stops moving. And then some more just to be sure.”

“Ah. I can do that.”

Closer.

We approached the gate of the manor. Was it just me, or did Justice truly seem nervous being considered a leading figure?

“The retribution and reckoning has come for you,” Justice shouted at the closed door, a bit shakily at first, but his confidence grew. “The mansion will not protect you!. Come out and face your crime!”

“We aren't afraid of you any longer,” the milkmaid shouted right into my ear. I stepped away from her.

“She has great power within her lair,” Justice turned around, “and she well knows it.. We must not rush in.. I will do all in my power to protect you,. but we must remain cautious.”

Come closer.

“Hey! First bastard!” I banged with the blunt edge of the sickle on the gate. “Come out you coward! I know you are there, stop hiding behind a demon's skirt!”

And I knew he was there. I was more certain of it than I was of the dully aching cut on my forearm. I felt him there, a wound in the order of things, a discord in the rhythm of the steady drums and low base.

Closer!

The gate opened. The First was not to be seen, but I felt him right under us. Instead the Baroness came out. She was beautiful. So beautiful that I almost needed to throw up, because it was wrong and inhumane. More like a painted piece of ivory rather than a living being.

“My my,” she tried to sound like a disappointed mother. “First the shouting outside and then you just barge in, without even a proper invitation.”

“Your reign ends here,” Justice informed her.

The Baroness smiled wolfish smile, one with too many teeth and too large to fit into her mouth the way it appeared: “Ah, but you do not know: I am not alone.”

From behind her walked out the First. I waved at him with an obnoxiously cheerful: “Hi!”

Apparently it did annoy the hell out of the Baroness, because she commanded the darkspawn: “Slay them and you shall have the reward you requested.”

With the flick of her wrist a spell pulled Justice on the balcony-esque platform, but he did not hesitate and struck his mace at her. As far as I could tell they were and even match for each other, spell and steel, might and magic. But I could not tell much, because the ground surrounding me and the militia erupted and covered us in dirt and demons.

I left the demons to the villagers, because my primary problem was the First. This fight was nothing like our previous duel. There he was cautious. Here he was swinging his sword from side to side without much care of what he hit as long as he hit something. I managed to dodge him every time so far, so what he hit was the ground and on one notable occasion a decorative boulder.

I was lucky and he probably could not manage to keep up that tempo forever. But it put me on defence and while there were a couple of openings I could use, whenever they appeared I was rolling around in the dirt and could not seize them. And I was tiring.

He brought the sword down again and I rolled away, so the blade met yet another boulder instead. The sound of tortured metal snapped and the blade shattered to three pieces. One of them hit me in the face and I suppose it scratched me, because I felt blood in my lips.

It was a chance, though, and I took it. I brought the sickle to the First's face, knees to his stomach and groin, and I kicked and clawed and slashed where I could.

“Die, you bastard. Burn. Burn! Rot in hell!” I didn't come up with anything more imaginative and wasted my breath. I hungered to destroy him.

He grabbed my wrist and twisted it. It hurt a lot and I shrieked, loosing the drive for a moment. He abused the flickering weakness and we rolled around in the dust for a moment before he ended up above me while I was laying on my stomach. He was heavy and burying me deeper into the ground, one knee between my shoulder blades. He took my sickle laying next to us and hooked it around my neck.

“You die here, Forgemaster.”

“It's.. ngh... the Oracle for you.” I yanked my head back and up and it collided with something. I heard a cracking sound, like a nose breaking, and my head hurt a lot, and the First howled in pain.

Fire, fire, fire. Think of fire. Fade was memories and imagination. A lot of my problems would be solved if I could remember a tank, but I didn't believe I could do it. But I could imagine fire. All consuming fire. Like at Caridin's Cross.

He let go and had to jump back. He still had my weapon, but also had to use one hand to hold his face together. Apparently his lower jaw was far more fragile than either of us realised.

My hands felt warm. Perhaps too much. I leapt forward.

“I told you to burn!”

And he heeded that command. I had my hands over his face and it ignited under my fingers, blue-white fire of righteous fury. I hoped it was righteous at least. It didn't hurt me, it washed over me like a heat wave of pride for a task well done.

“No,” the Baroness screamed, seeing that the tide of the battle turned against her. “You fool! Why have you not defeated them?”

“Raaaaaagh! Send... me... back!” the First pleaded. His burning tongue met my fingers. _Great, more fuel for my Warden nightmares, I always wanted that._

“Oh, I will sunder the Veil all right, I'll send them all back. But you- your life is going to provide that power!”

“Nooo-”

I felt his life slipping away, but over the curtain of flames I did not see anything. All I knew was that the world turned upside down and inside out, and then there was nothing for me to hold on and burn, because everything was gone.

I opened my eyes and coughed. Then I sat up and coughed some more. I was cold. And soaking wet. And aching. I was sitting in a pool of ash-mud mixed with blood. My dress was completely caked in it, and so were my arms and the better half of my hair. A few steps away from me were bundled burned clothes and chain mail. I recognised one of the glistening pieces sticking out as the First's gauntlet, now partially melted. Remnants of his sword were laying nearby.

It was raining, I noticed. At least the cold water was soothing my aching head. My mouth felt as if Oghren had a rave party in there, and- Yes, that was definitely the taint sludge over there. Glad I did manage to get it out and not suffocate on it.

And on my left there was the corpse of the monstrous Baroness, spiky and demonic. I felt a wave of satisfaction. Good. She would no longer torment any souls. It looked like Justice managed to bring her down after all.

Considered that I had just woken up from an uncomfortable nap, I was not tired. Aching, yes, but not tired. I did what every Grey Warden would do and looted the drakspawn's corpse, not that there was any corpse to speak of. But most of the armour fit me, though loosely, and it made me feel a bit safer. A good mail, and this looked like one, could protect from most arrows, and as far as my memory went, Nathanial was quite the shot, so armour was good for me.

After another thought I took a piece of the broken two-handed sword as well. The remnants of the blade were as long as the hilt, give or take the pommel, but it felt nice and heavy in my hand and it was the best knife I could get given the circumstances. Never mind that knives had only one edge sharpened.

I got up to leave the Blackmarch. I could not linger. There was work to do, a war to win. A traitor to bring to justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave a summary of the story so far to my boyfriend. He implied that I might consider using the Body Horror tag. I don't know... this isn't... that much of a body horror, right? So far, I mean? Like, not any more than the regular horror of having a body (which is a horrific experience)


End file.
